


Checkmate In Five Moves

by RZZMG



Series: Hermione x Draco stories [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dramione-Remix Fest Round 4, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Gambit/Rogue - Freeform, Horcruxes, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Infidelity, Loss of Control, Loss of Powers, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Remix, Second War with Voldemort, X-Men series, magical spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of the on-going conflict with the Dark Army, the White Queen, Hermione Granger, and the White King, Draco Malfoy, manoeuvre around each other, both aiming for the same thing – an end to the curses laid upon them by Bellatrix Lestrange. Circling the board are random pieces: Rabastan Lestrange (the White Knight), Narcissa Malfoy (a Bishop of indeterminate colour), Ginny Weasley (the White Rook), and Astoria Malfoy (the Black Queen). Can Hermione figure out how to win the White King's affection and Checkmate Voldemort, the Black King, in time?</p><p>MOD'S CHOICE AWARD (MOD 'KIM') - DRAMIONE-REMIX FEST-ROUND 4 (2013) ON LIVEJOURNAL</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> REVISION 1.0 - 2013  
> REVISION 2.0 - 2014-2015
> 
> This was my pinch-hit for the 2013 Dramione Remix Round 4 entry (dramione-remix . livejournal . com). 
> 
> Prompt I worked from: Rogue x Gambit (X-Men comics).  
> Prompt Notes: In the X-Men comics, Gambit & Rogue are opposites in the comic series: he's an energy creator, she's an energy stealer. Gambit also happens to be desperately in love with Rogue, and she with him, but they can never touch, due to her powers. They are star-crossed lovers in the series as a result, always fighting and pushing each other away, while pulling at each other at the same time. In this fic Gambit = Draco, Rogue = Hermione. EXTRA NOTES AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, LadySashi, who once again rode to the rescue and made the story shine. 
> 
> Thank you to the Mods for putting on this fest again - always a fun-filled time!

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_**Malfoy Manor - April, 1998** _ **  
**

_**.~.~.~.~.~.** _

_"Did you know Mudbloods are the ancestral children of Squibs mating with Muggles?" Bellatrix whispers in my ear, as if imparting a secret. She giggles, insanity tainting her joy, but shouts in my face a moment later, "Your kind is an aberration, bred by defects and the mundane!"_

_She leans back, and I can barely see her once-beautiful features through my tears._

_I want to tell her to go straight to Hell, but my tongue isn't working quite right. It feels swollen. I think I bit down upon it too hard during that last Crucio._

_"You're born stealing magic from our world," Voldemort's mad lieutenant continues in a more even tone of voice, pressing the tip of her wand into my cheek, "in a pathetic attempt to claw out a place for yourself where you didn't belong from the start." She taps my forehead three times and snarls at me. "Your kind are all dirty, foul thieves from the moment of your birth until your death. I'll prove it to you."_

_For a moment, the haze before my eyes clears, and I can see Bellatrix's face. She's wearing a sadistic smile just for me._

_I haven't a clue as to what the mad witch means, or what the triumph in her black eyes signifies, until a month later, when she lies dead on the cracked floor of the Great Hall, and Voldemort barely escapes Harry's wrath._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – February, 2000**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

There's a familiar knock on my bedroom door, hard and a bit demanding.

I pull my reading glasses from my nose, blink away the fuzziness, and look up at the antique Victorian clock sitting on the small table at my side as an excuse to stall.

Is it that late already? I've lost track of time again.

Setting aside my book, I make my feet, a bit shaky. I take a moment to attempt to straighten my robe, and to regain control of my trembling limbs and my fast beating heart.

I hate that he knows my weakness, just as I'm sure he despises exposing his to me. We have an arrangement and an understanding, but that doesn't mean I enjoy letting down my defences, especially where  _he's_  concerned.

The pounding gets louder, more insistent.

I should let him sit out in the hall until it hurts. He'd deserve no less. I won't, but still, the idea brings me some small, grim amusement.

With a sigh, I raise my wand and wave it over the door, unlocking it - a wordless invite to my guest.

The door swings open and slams against the wall, and he enters, shutting and relocking it behind him with his wand. Without a word, he stalks towards me, already half undressed, and shucks his shirt from his shoulders, tossing it to the ground.

I refuse to just start stripping because he expects it. I won't make this easy for him. I cross my arms and watch him approach, that strange fluttering in my belly that appears every time we do this crawling around inside me like an illness.

His belt hits the wooden floor with a clang, and the sound of his zip coming down is loud in the hush. He doesn't say anything, just stares as me, waiting. His cock is in his hand, and he's stroking it without shame, letting me know that his lust is real and all for me.

There is a darkness in his gaze, and anyone who didn't know him better would assume it meant he was angry. I know his expressions by now, though. He takes a twisted enjoyment from the needle-like sensation that digs under his skin whenever he allows his energy levels to spike too high, for too long. It's one of the reasons why he's almost always waited until the last minute to come to me, hovering on that edge between pleasure and pain, riding the high.

There is sweat upon his upper lip, and dotting his brow as the ache sharpens, carving into him now. I see the black glint in his eye, the pursing of his lips, but he makes no sound. My body trembles, sensing the sweet taste of magic so close… I swallow, thick and heavy, as hunger begins clawing at my insides. The hollowness in my belly makes me an empty, concave vessel, desperate and needy. But I have my pride, and I won't be the first to flinch in this game of chess that Malfoy and I play.

The clock on the side table chimes once to let me know it is half-past. The sound jars us both, and he breaks, moving first. Gripping my arms in a firm hold, he drags me over to the bed, ripping my robe from me. I'm wearing nothing underneath, having expected him. My nipples are hard points, straining for his touch as he focuses on them. He chuckles, and it is a victorious, male sound that rumbles through his chest.

Using his weight, he knocks me back onto the mattress and mounts me, shoving my thighs aside. A quick adjustment and he thrusts, burying deep inside me with a moan of satisfaction. I'm so wet, and my leg muscles are quaking uncontrollably, and I grab hold of him for all I'm worth and fuck him just as wildly as he fucks me. We tear at each other, letting out all our frustrations over our unusual situation.

I want this with him. I want it more than once a month. I want it because there's a type of chemistry between us that's undeniable, despite our contradictory natures.

If only he wanted the same thing...

It's over too quick, and for the first time since we began this bizarre ritual, I don't come. I think it's because the emotional war going on in my head is upsetting me too much to allow my body a release. I do feel Malfoy's seed, hot and slick, inside me as he hisses his satisfaction, though.

I tense, anticipating what's next. His arms tighten around me, preparing us both.

The rush of his discharged magical energy pours through me a moment after his last jerking release, lighting me up like a Christmas tree from the inside-out. I scream and hold onto him for all I'm worth, crying from the pleasure and pain of being filled with magic once more. My greedy cells drink up every drop he gives, absorbing it like a sponge, until I'm once more filled to bursting and Malfoy is back to his normal energy levels.

It will take me three or so more weeks before I use up all of this magic he's gifted me, but only if I'm careful with its use. Three weeks to once again be a witch...

My lover slumps against me, drained for the moment. His panting breath against my throat feels oppressive, like humidity in the summertime, and I turn my head so I can find a cool respite from the surrounding air. My limbs are like jelly, unwilling to respond to my mental commands for them to let him go.

He takes the decision from me a few moments later, pushing off and out of me. His eyes don't meet mine now, as he hastily buttons back up his slacks and re-zips. He gathers his things from the floor and heads for the door as quickly as he can.

There, he pauses, however, just as he does every time. I know what he's going to say next, and I hate the words, because they only reinforce what this is between us: a means to an end.

"Thanks, Granger."

He slips out the door and is gone, quietly closing it behind him.

Every month, it's the same: he comes through my bedroom like a hurricane, and he leaves my heart just as shredded and devastated when he passes on.

I am painfully aware of the fact that he has never kissed me on the mouth, too.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_**Hogwarts Castle – 2 May, 1998** _

_**.~.~.~.~.~.** _

_"She'll be going with me," Snape explains to Moody, indicating the shivering witch at his side. She's heavily cowled so I can't see her face, but strands of messy, blonde hair appear at the edges of her hood, and I can see her bared, pale arms peeking out from under her cloak. Her skin is smudged with dirt and ash. I also note that her dress is torn at the hem, but she doesn't use her wand to fix it. I wonder why not._

_"Are you mad? What good is a young girl going to be in that viper's den?" Moody argues with his colleague. "They'll eat 'er alive!"_

_The two get into a heated debate over the matter, with Lupin and McGonagall trying to referee. I wait at the edge of the group, having walked all the way up the stairs to the Headmaster's tower, wanting to ask if anyone has seen Harry or Ron. I've just come in from helping to dig out a trapped Centaur in the decimated Viaduct Courtyard, and have no idea where my two best friends are._

_"Oh, Miss Granger," Minerva calls, drawing the conversation to an abrupt halt as she makes it clear I'm hovering, listening. "What can we do for you, dear?"_

_"I wondered if you've seen Harry or... or Ron about? I seem to have lost track of them."_

_"We will discuss this later," Severus curtly informs the others, ignoring my presence entirely. "Come," he instructs the covered witch at his side._

_They move past me towards the open door and the stairwell. The witch accidentally brushes against me in a somewhat rough manner, but doesn't apologise. I assume it's because, hanging as she is with Snape, she's in Slytherin, and everyone knows I'm Gryffindor, and whether the war is over or not, House prejudice remains the same. Besides, the Slytherins were treated rather badly when they were banished to the dungeon before the fighting, so it's natural to expect they'd harbour some resentment._

_I turn my attention to more important things... like finding Ron and Harry._

_When my best friends and I do finally hook-up, I try and fail to use magic to heal Ron's bloodied nose._

_It takes me several days of failed spell-casting to admit the truth: I'm empty, as ordinary as my parents._

_I'm a Squib._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – February, 2000 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

I wince as I sit down in the chair at the kitchen table, and Ginny tosses me a sympathetic look.

"You okay?" she asks knowing that the morning afters with Malfoy are the same as well. I'm typically swollen and sensitive from the sex, and I ache from the added heaviness in my bones. They become like Adamantium the first few days after Draco's magical excess is absorbed by my body, and I'm slow moving and have to take pain potions to counteract the effects.

I nod, weary. "Fine," I croak. My throat is raw from screaming the night before – not just during the sex, but throughout the night, as the magic digs its way into my pores, sinking deep into every cell. It is pure pain and rapture at the same time.

I wonder if what I endure after Malfoy shunts his excess magical energy to me qualifies as a form of cryptobiosis. I know that for the first day after the transfer, I feel like one of those Sea-Monkeys sold in Muggle science kits, spontaneously birthed and filled up with life. Every joint and muscle hurts, my head pounds, I'm sensitive to noise and light. It's awful, and it's beautiful at the same time.

No one is sharing the kitchen with us for the moment, so Ginny speaks up. She's bold where she shouldn't be, and fearless in the face of danger, and although that makes her a tough opponent on the battlefield, it doesn't make her a very tactful person. I both love and hate her for it at the same time.

"I'll say it for the gazillionth time: you don't have to be only with Malfoy," she points out. "Rabastan's here, too."

I sigh. "I know."

"He's made it clear he's interested-"

"I  _know_ , Gin," I say again.

My best girl friend is quiet for a moment as I rub my temples, trying to forcibly beat the migraine that's slowly creeping up on me. It'll be a losing battle, but I fight it anyway, knowing I can't take any more pain potions for the time being. I'm already dangerously close to addiction.

"Malfoy's married, Hermione. If the war ends in our favour, as it looks like it might soon, and we're all still alive, he'll choose his wife over you. You'll get your heart broken."

Tears waver before my eyes. I sigh again. "I know."

There is an uncomfortable silence that lasts a bit before Ginny changes the topic. "Harry's close to finding Ravenclaw's Horcrux, and he thinks Nagini might be the sixth one."

I wipe the tears from my eyes, frowning. "I didn't know Horcruxes could be inside living creatures. I always assumed they were only found in inanimate objects. All of Voldemort's other hiding places were things – the locket, the ring, the cup."

"The diary," Ginny reminds me.

We spend a while talking on the subject, and then move on to other Order business and gossip. We avoid discussing my relationship with Draco again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skewers, Pins, and Forks are all chess tactics that can be played on the fly to counter or attack. Gambits, Defences, and Traps are in-depth chess strategies that require planning everything out perfectly several moves ahead.
> 
> In the X-Men comics, Rogue is a Mutant - a person born with 'super DNA' – the next evolution of humanity. She is also a member of the benevolent team of Mutants known as the X-Men. Her powers are tactile: she touches another living being's skin and absorbs their life-force, memories, and mutant abilities. She once grabbed and held onto fellow Mutant, Ms. Marvel. Doing so caused Rogue to permanently absorb the other woman's powers and memories, leaving Ms. Marvel a tabula rasa – a completely blank slate. Obviously, in this fic, Hermione has Rogue's abilities, and Luna's fate will mimic Ms. Marvel's.
> 
> Gambit is another Mutant in the X-Universe, who was once a thief & a member of an evil organization bent on world-domination, but he eventually turned to the X-Men to fight against his former colleagues. He is an energy charger; he imparts kinetic energy to items, and throws them at objects or people, and they explode on contact. He's handsome, charming (when he puts his mind to it), and a womanizer. Gambit's first love was a woman named Bella Donna - a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell who also happens to be disgustingly rich, a skilled assassin, and a nasty foe. Gambit married Bella Donna, but was forced to separate from her later (they are not legally divorced, but they definitely are not together anymore in the series). Draco is meant to be like Gambit in this fic, and Astoria is meant to be Bella Donna.
> 
> In the comic series, there is a group of Mutants who banded together to form The Hellfire Club (which Gambit and Rogue both were wrapped up in at various times throughout their history). Their members are organised in a hierarchy of power, and refer to each other as pieces on a chessboard (The White Queen, The Black King, etc.), rather than by their real names. They were the inspiration for including the chess references in this fic.
> 
> In the 1990's, there was a brief story arc in the comics where a Mutant named Joseph appears on the scene & joins the X-Men. He is cloned from one of the bad guys in the series (Magneto, for you comic fans), but his DNA is changed so he appears as a much younger version than his originator (appearing in his 30's, rather than in his 60's). Joseph is different in personality, too, turning to good, rather than evil. He falls in love with Rogue, and she is drawn to him. This creates a love-triangle between her, Joseph, and (a very jealous) Gambit. Ultimately, Rogue chooses Gambit, and later, Joseph dies in some heroic manner. In this fic, Rabastan is meant to be the Joseph character.
> 
> Adamantium is a made-up metal in the Marvel Universe that is the strongest and most durable metal in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Marvel comics, Gambit's eyes glow bright red whenever he uses his power.

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – January, 1999** _**  
** _

****.~.~.~.~.~.** **

_The most conservative British, Scottish, and Irish wizards united under the Dark Lord's banner to launch the assault against Hogwarts Castle last year, but they lost the fight. At that time, Voldemort barely escaped, and the guerrilla fighting in the months since has taken its toll on him and his army._

_Several weeks ago, around Christmas, thanks to some excellent intelligence received by Severus Snape and his protégé, Astoria Malfoy, the Order was able to rout the Russian and Balkan pure-blood families who had sent reinforcements at Tom Riddle's appeal. During the ensuing Battle of Chelmsford on New Year's Day, our side tragically lost Hagrid, Flitwick, Percy, and Pomfrey, but we did manage to defeat the eastern coalition of wizards and witches, sending them packing back to the continent._

_The newest reports from the field indicate that Voldemort's army is floundering, as has lost many of its supporters. Lupin optimistically predicts the war will be over by next year._

_I remain as I have these last seven months, since I was left behind during the Battle of Hogwarts: mostly alone at Grimmauld Place, which serves as a safe house now. People come and go through the house in random intervals, sometimes jam-packing the beds, but in general, I am the sole warm body within these four walls._

_My occupation for the resistance has greatly changed as a result of my loss of magic. Once a week, I prepare potions ingredients for Lavender with stock brought in from Neville, so we can constantly replenish our stores of healing draughts, and make curing pastes which don't require any magical conjuration. In between, I research, pouring over maps and intelligence that Moody and his team gather regarding enemy movements, seeking patterns or clues as to the enemy's next steps, and I keep the place tidy and spider-free. Sometimes, I tinker with Muggle technology brought to me by Arthur (who has wired the house for Muggle and magical use), learning about electronics, and how motors and belts work. I play the piano in the Living Room when the fancy strikes, and keep the chessboard in the opposite corner dust-free for when Ron and Harry come by. Whenever people do come to crash in the house, I cook meals for them the old-fashioned Muggle way from supplies that Molly continually keeps stocked-piled here, and I keep everyone's spirits up with holiday decorations and celebrations when they find themselves at my door._

_Basically, I give those who fight a place of comfort away from the war, and I remind them what they are fighting for: people like me, a mundane._

_In the vaults of my heart, I secretly resent my limited ability to really make a difference in this war, but I stay around and do it because there are more important things in the world than my hurt feelings. There is the safety of Monica and Wendell Wilkins. There is George's depression and his suicidal tendencies. There is being there for any of my friends when they need a pep-talk or advice._

_There is keeping a watchful eye on our newest 'guests', too._

_Most days Draco Malfoy can be found sitting by his mother's bed in the room we've made up for her next to mine on the first floor, waiting for her to regain consciousness, or looking out the front window in the Living Room. He showers every day, and always appears clean and well-shaven, no matter the chasing of his internal demons. He hardly speaks, mostly avoids me, and can often be found lost in thought, twisting his gold wedding band around and around on his long, thin finger. Sometimes, he stares at me in curiosity, and I wonder just how much he knows about what his twisted aunt has done to me. It's obvious to all and sundry that I have lost my magical talent; I don't carry a wand anymore, and Draco is quite observant of that fact. He has not yet asked me about it, though. He will, I know he will, but for now he satisfies his interest in silent observation._

_Rabastan Lestrange wanders from room to room at Grimmauld in a bizarre pattern of interest, one day admiring the piano in the Living Room, the next visiting Regulus Black's old bedroom on the third floor, and the day after that, inventorying the contents of the kitchen pantries below. He is anxious and restless, never staying in one place for too long, and he sleeps with his bedroom door and windows open, no matter the weather outside. He hogs up the hot water in the bath more than Malfoy, spending more than half an hour at a jaunt under the spray, leaving me waiting for the old water heater in the basement (the one I fixed within the first few weeks of living here) to refresh. He is polite, oddly enough, but like Draco, spends most of his time watching, and less talking to me._

_My three-week old housemates are defectors, running while they had the chance, while their Dark Lord was distracted by the need to spread his evil wings to blanket the world. Lucius Malfoy's death, and Narcissa's subsequent injuries necessitated them coming to the Order for help, as they couldn't risk going to St. Mungo's._

_I have been ordered by Shacklebolt to assure their comfort; apparently, he brokered an information exchange with Malfoy and Lestrange in exchange for providing them sanctuary and aide. I perform my duty to the best of my ability, despite the fact I hate that in their eyes, I am little but a servant – right where they believe I belong._

_For all my courtesy, I still don't trust any of them. Every day I wait on pins and needles for either Draco or the youngest Lestrange brother to betray us._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – February, 2000 (3)**

****.~.~.~.~.~.** **

Intentionally, Ginny sends Rabastan up to my room later with some broth, a bit of bread, and some tea to settle my stomach. The minute he appears at my door with the tray of food, I know my pseudo-sister is attempting to play matchmaker.

I'll admit, when Rabastan Lestrange and Draco Malfoy surrendered thirteen months ago, seeking asylum for themselves as well as a comatose Narcissa Malfoy, I'd had my suspicions about all of them. When it came out during their individual interrogations by the other Order members under an intense regime of Veritaserum and Legilimency, that the three of them had been unwilling soldiers in Tom Riddle's war, I'd still held onto my scepticism of them.

A year plus, and many emotional battles later though, and I've learned a hard lesson: do not always believe your first impression when it comes to Slytherins.

Ral is as different from his older half-brother, Rodolphus, as birds are from bees. For one, he's blond in the same exact shade as the Malfoy men, with stormy, blue eyes and a thin build. According to him, he takes primarily after his mother, Eudora, the second wife of Sebastian Lestrange. Conversely, Rodolphus is bull-like and dark in every way possible, resembling his father's first wife, Abatissa.

As far as personality goes, Ral is a thinker rather than a doer; he's quiet, careful, and methodical, and until he came to the Order, he had always lived in the shadow of Rodolphus' more forceful personality. At ten years younger than his sibling, he'd been coerced into becoming a Death Eater at a young age, indoctrinated a week before his seventeenth birthday. From that point onward, he'd been bullied by his father and brother into casting Unforgivables in Voldemort's name. Oddly enough, he'd never cast the Killing Curse, though.

The similarities between his story and Draco's is staggering, to say the least. That they're third cousins related by blood isn't surprising (Eudora was Lucius Malfoy's second cousin).

There is sixteen years between Ral and me, but when I look at him, I don't see that stretch of time marking his handsome features. I do see sincere regret in his eyes, though. He is a man seeking redemption.

He also fancies himself in love with me. He's told me so on more than one occasion.

Incarcerated in Azkaban since the end of the First Wizarding War, when he was not yet eighteen, it's my suspicion that he hasn't had much experience with women, and that's why he's latched onto me. Perhaps a tryst or two since his escape from prison years back when the Dementors turned on the Ministry, but surely nothing serious.

I see intention in his gaze now, though.

"How are you feeling?" he tactfully asks.

I feel my cheeks heat. Everyone in the Order has known what's been going on between Malfoy and me for a year. The curses Bellatrix laid on us both are not a secret one can keep in a group as close-knit as the Order. It doesn't help that Grimmauld Place doesn't have very good acoustical cushioning, and so conversations –and sexual liaisons, for that matter– are usually audible without a solid Silencing Charm cast in advance.

"I'm fine," I automatically respond, and pull the covers of the bed higher up my chest. "Just tired."

Ral sets the tray on the table by my bed, and sits on the edge, taking liberties by sitting so close without invitation. In his hand, he holds a stem containing several blooms of delicate, soft-petal flowers. "Forget-Me-Nots. My mother loved these flowers. She had a carpet of them covering our front lawn." He smirks with memory. "My father was allergic as hell. Sneezed his bloody head off all the time. I think that's why my mum kept them blooming all year, just to stick it to the old prune."

He passes the stem to me.

"My favourite colour – periwinkle blue," I admit, smelling the flowers. There's a light fragrance, very unique. I've never smelled anything quite like it before. It's absolutely lovely.

"I'll remember that," Ral says and stares down at me, at my gloved hands -I always keep them gloved, to prevent touching bare skin, which activates my curse- and then slowly reaches out to cover them with one of his own. I can feel his warmth seeping through the thin fabric. "May I remind you again that you need not get all of your magical energy from Draco? Two curses can make a charm, they say."

I give him a teasing smile. "An old wives' tale."

"But scientifically held to be true in five out of ten cases," he reminds me. "Think about how the Undetectable Extensions Charm came into existence – from a curse to make things wider, and another to make things endless. Or the Weight Loss Charm, which derives from a Vomiting Curse and an Appetite Suppressant Curse."

"Does it really?" I ask, making a face.

"I may be known to tell an exaggeration here and there, but I will never lie to you, love," he promises me.

The gravity of the situation returns in an instant, and I lose my momentary amusement. "I know what you want, Ral, but I…"

"You're in love with  _him,_ " he finishes for me, as I am unable to admit the truth aloud. It is obvious who he is referring to as well. "I've known that for as long as I've known I'm in love with  _you_."

Ral grips my hand and pulls it up between us, removing the soft cloth glove before I can stop him. I gasp as our naked fingers entwine. Immediately, I feel my theft of his magical energies, as well as the accompanying sexual arousal of my curse, and try to pull away. He prevents it, holding firm, but lowering his head to place a tender kiss upon my knuckles.

"I'll say it again: I still wish to serve you, even knowing how you feel."

His long, golden lashes flutter downward as he continues kissing the back of my hand. How he's able to resist the pull of desire the curse causes in others is beyond me. I know I can mostly deny it right now because I'm very full-up with Malfoy's magic at the moment, and my body is still incredibly exhausted, but that doesn't mean I'm totally immune to the pulse of hot, clenching need that rushes through me.

"Take from me, Hermione. Take what you need, at any time you wish."

He glances up at me from under heavy lids, his meaning crystal clear. My heart is pounding, my breath catches in my chest, and all I can do is stare at him in wide-eyed wonder.

The harsh swish of fabric from the open doorway and booted footsteps moving off down the hall tell me someone has just been unintentionally eavesdropping on my conversation with Rabastan. I have a sinking feeling I know who it is. Malfoy is not as stealthy as he'd like to believe.

I draw my hand from Ral's grasp, and conceal it back inside its fabric shell. I can feel his magic coursing through me as a warm, flowing stream of endless possibilities. Maybe it would be better if Ral and I... No, I can't. He doesn't generate excess magic, like Malfoy does. If I were to take from Ral, I'd be draining him permanently. I could kill him.

"Thank you," I say, to let him know I'm appreciative of his gift and his offer. "I need some time… to think about it."

He nods, accepting my dodge for the moment, but I can see in his face that he won't do so for much longer. He's a man who has had to wait to live, all because he'd made some very poor decisions in his youth, but now that he's free from prison, it's clear he wants to experience what he was denied for fifteen years.

"Please eat," he requests of me, indicating the food on the tray. "It'll help you regain your strength, and the tea will calm you."

With that, he stands and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Godric, what am I going to do? What Ral is offering is a quiet, soothing compromise to the hell I'm currently suffering, both romantically and magically. Perhaps it might be a better alternative to waiting for my heart to get broken.

 _But what about Malfoy_ , my conscience asks, reminding me of just how unintentionally dangerous he can be without an outlet for his side of the curse. He needs me to take what he makes in excess, and I need him to give me what I can no longer generate on my own.

Really, it's a poor excuse, and I know it. I'm not hesitating on taking Ral up on his overture because I'm worried about Malfoy's powers. I  _am_  concerned, naturally, but really I'm hesitating because I'm hoping Malfoy will wake up one day and realise how good we could be together…

Hell, it's Ron all over again, isn't it?

I think I must be a masochist.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – February, 1999**

****.~.~.~.~.~.** **

_Our affair begins by accident._

_Malfoy's mother has been transferred to the same safe house as McGonagall as of earlier this afternoon, so it is just me, Draco, and Rabastan left at Grimmauld. We're all three of us in the kitchen, for once in the same room and none of us looking for an escape. Conversation is stilted, but not hostile._

_"I'm making us beef stew and dumplings for dinner, and planned to melt some chocolate to drink later," I say. "Does that appeal?"_

_Draco grunts, and I take it to mean, 'it's fine'._

_Honestly, I'm a bit relieved that Narcissa woke up two days earlier and is now gone, because Draco's less broody and moody now that his mum is awake and in good hands, and that is always a positive thing given his volatile temper. Besides, changing her bed sheets and her pyjamas, and bathing her while she'd been unconscious had been a lot of work for a person without magic at their disposal. I'd had to do things the old-fashioned way, and had discovered things about Lady Malfoy I hadn't ever wanted to know. For instance, she bore a five-inch scar low on her abdomen, right about where her womb would be. It reminded me of the one my own mum had after she'd had her hysterectomy. Somehow, I just knew Narcissa's uterus was no longer in her, and I wondered what had caused her to undergo such a surgery._

_Overall, it has all been a very surreal experience care-taking for a woman who loathes the very ground I walk on, but now... well, it is out of my hands. Now, all I have to concern myself with is babysitting two former Death Eaters._

_"That's very kind of you, Miss Granger," Rabastan says in response to my dinner plans for us. "Isn't that nice of her, Draco?" he asks, prodding his companion to show a bit more appreciation. "Miss Granger's help is very-"_

_He stops very suddenly, and the hairs on the back of my next stand up._

_When I follow his line of sight I'm shocked by the sight before me._

_Draco's eyes are glowing neon red, as bright as a stop light. His whole body is shaking. He wraps his arms around his middle, and starts to whimper as if in pain._

_"What's wrong?" I ask._

_Rabastan stops me from going to my former classmate's side with a restraining hand on my sleeve. "Don't! Don't touch him when he's like this. It's dangerous. Bellatrix cursed him just before her death with an ancient dark spell. It didn't manifest until this past December, but basically, his body accumulates magical energy, storing it until it comes to a boiling point, like now." He insists, "Drop the wards around this place so he can get out and find some place nearby to sink his energy into or he'll blow us all sky high!"_

" _I can't," I say, frustrated. "I... I no longer have any magic!"_

_He looks at me as if I'm some sort of cursed freak and quickly releases me. "What?"_

_I swallow, hating the words tumbling from my lips. "After Bellatrix's death, something… some curse activated for me as well. I think she cast it on me the day I was captured and brought to Malfoy's home last April, while she tortured me. I have no magic of my own anymore. I'm… I'm a Squib."_

_He narrows his eyes in scepticism, even as Draco's pain-filled voice interrupts._

" _Fucking help me!" he yowls._

" _Where's your wand?" I ask Lestrange, but I already know the answer. I haven't seen Rabastan or Draco use magic once since coming here. Moody has most likely confiscated their wands, assuring they won't be able to turn them on me while staying at Grimmauld, just in case. "Can't you do something?"_

_He shakes his head. "Even if I were good at wandless magic -which I'm not- there's no way I'm getting close to those wards without some serious hurt being doled out, much less taking them down. I felt Moody's strength when he escorted us through them when we came here. I wouldn't dare try."_

_"So, no getting out," I say, exasperated. "Can't he just discharge in here? Maybe grab on to something metal, like the stove, and let it ground him until the magic dissipates?"_

_"It doesn't seem to work like that," Rabastan explains. "From what I can tell, anything he touches that isn't directly touching his skin the minute the build-up starts goes BOOM in a big way. It's how Narcissa was hurt. She reached for his arm, and was thrown ten feet into a wall." He grimaces. "Shit, at this rate, he's going to kill not only us, but the entire neighbourhood. No choice."_

_He crosses to a kitchen drawer, opens it, and takes out a knife that looks light enough to throw with deadly accuracy._

_I step into his path. "You are not going to murder him."_

" _He's on a build-up towards detonation, as you Muggles put it." He looks down at the killing instrument in his hand, and tightens his grip on the handle. "I saw it back at the Manor in Wiltshire, just before the new year. He took out half the bloody house when he went off then. That was just before he accidentally tossed his own mother into the wall, nearly breaking her spine. The only reason Narcissa and I survived then was because Lucius used his wife's wand to cast a protection shield around her, and I happened to be kneeling at her side at that moment. He and the elder Crabbe were caught in the blast." He looked decidedly green just then. "There wasn't enough left of either of them to bury."_

_We lock eyes, and I see a type of determination in him that reflects a life of hard choices._

" _Move, Miss Granger. Please."_

_Fiercely, I shake my head. "There has to be some other way!"_

_Behind me, Draco starts screaming. I turn just in time to see him beginning to topple over._

" _He's falling!" Rabastan shouts, panicked._

_I move on instinct, and throw myself at Draco._

_The moment my skin touches his I feel his magic race to escape his body – diving right into me. It pours through my skin, races through my veins, and sinks deep into my bones. Like an empty, thirsty vessel, I am suddenly filled up with all of this miraculous power, and it's so euphoric a sensation that my eyes roll back into my head. My knees give out, and Draco and I tumble to the floor, grasping each other like a lifeline in a churning, stormy ocean._

_His mouth accidentally presses against the pulse in my throat, and through the thin membrane, I feel a zap of energy. It causes my body to jerk, and to become incredibly aroused. My nipples tingle and my clit swells. Wet, silky warmth soaks me as I cream my knickers. The rapture takes me over and I rub myself against Draco's hard body with a moan._

_Experimentally, he rocks his lower body into mine, and I respond with a pleasurable cry and an equally forceful shifting of my own. It's a blatant signal that sends us both into a whirling tornado of need. We begin enthusiastically humping, uncaring of our audience or of the barrier of our clothes, our bodies as out of control as our appositional curses._

_We strain against each other, and I wrap my legs around him, urging him on by grinding into his pelvis. Each breath is torn with desperation from my heaving chest, and my heart thumps so loudly in my ears it's a heavy drum beat that threatens to deafen me. "Fuck, FUCK," Draco shouts above me, as he strokes against me mimicking sex. His hips create an almost painful friction between my clit, the thin cotton of my knickers, and the rough zip of my jeans._

_I struggle to speak, but all that comes out is some animalistic growly noises. I spear my fingers into his soft, platinum hair and pull – a silent urging for more, feeling my horizon fast approaching. He gives exactly what I want and need, latching onto my throat with his teeth to pin me down, and roughly shoving against me until I'm wailing and climaxing, and... oh-my-god I want to die in this feeling!_

_When it's over, I'm exhausted and sore, but I can feel magic tingling at the tip of my tongue and behind my eyelids. I'm filled with its light and joy, and I nearly cry at having forgotten how wonderful a feeling it is. It is an easy thing for me to wave my hand and will the knife from Rabastan's hand. It flies across the room and sinks its deadly blade into a wooden chopping board._

_Lestrange is looking at me and Draco with amazement… and blatant sexual hunger._ " _Well, that's one way to work off an out-of-control curse," he muses with a small laugh, his cheeks as pink as mine probably are just then. "Think I need a cold shower tonight, though."_

" _All the more hot water for me," I say, still catching my breath, beginning to untangle from Malfoy. My legs drop heavily to the floor as do my shaky arms. "I'm desperately in need of a bath right now."_


	3. Chapter 3

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – February, 2000 (4)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

One day later, I'm back up on my feet and able to leave my bedroom on my own, without Ginny's or Ral's or anyone else's help. My strength returns, and with it comes renewed purpose.

An hour after I'm showered and dressed in clean clothing, I'm in Moody's face, demanding to be sent out on a mission. I have magical energy to burn now, and I want to feel as if I matter again. Moody, of course, tells me to piss off, reminding me that I don't make the duty roster – he does. Dogged in my determination to make a difference in this war, I don't let it go, of course.

Our titanic clash has become something of a tradition since the end of last summer, when I'd decided I wanted to do some field work again. The grizzled, old wizard, who is one of five members of the Order's leadership council (the other members being Arthur, Kingsley, Minerva, and Remus), knows by now to come to Grimmauld right around this time of the month, ready to duke it out with me.

The battlefield is always the kitchen, while sitting at opposite ends of the long table. As in a chess game, Moody and I play Skewers and Pins, the arguments flowing from one assertion to a rebuttal to a counter, to the next assertion. In the end, I usually Fork the logic, so he has no choice but to make a compromise. It's always the same.

This time, though, the tradition changes. Moody doesn't actually fight me as hard, and I'm told my assignment without much of a fuss: I'm to be given back Bellatrix's wand (the one we stole from her after escaping Malfoy Manor) and will scout a possible Death Eater safe house... with Ral and Malfoy. Moody thinks my two housemates are trustworthy enough, and ready to be given back their wands and sent on a mission finally. With their knowledge of the enemy, he believes they're our best chance for determining if the site is legit, or if it's a trap.

Moody will be going with us, of course, to keep an eye on the newest recruits and assure Malfoy and Ral don't try anything... funny. Hence the reason he didn't put up much of a fight this time around. Sneaky bugger.

I think it's a terrible idea to put the three of us together, though, and I'm unafraid to say so to Moody.

"We can always go without you, girl."

He reminds me once more that I've bullied my way into the assignment, so I either commit or I forfeit the board. That it's my choice goes unspoken, but the gauntlet's been thrown, and I pick it up to save face.

Malfoy doesn't bother asking me if I'm well enough to go on the mission when we wait in the Living Room upstairs later for final instructions. In fact, he doesn't even turn from the window when Ral walks in, stops short upon locking eyes with me, and starts to sputter in protest.

"You're still ashen faced, Hermione! You need at least three more days of bed rest!"

I take a deep breath of air and blow it out in a rush. "Ral, don't start. I feel fine."

"Who the fuck's Ral?"

I turn to Malfoy, hearing that thin thread of menace in tone that reminds me of our school days together. His eyes are narrow slits as he looks between me and our third companion on this trip.

"Rabastan Alastair Lestrange. Ral," I explain with a shrug, trying to play it cool. "Short, sweet, and to the point. Easier to say and write. You want a nickname, too? I can always think one up for you. 'Grumpy-puss' jumps immediately to mind."

My once-a-month-lover looks between me and his distant relation and snorts in disdain. "Whatever," he snarls, and turns his attention back out the window, ignoring the room.

Ral and I exchange a glance in surprise at Malfoy's uncharacteristic bad mood, but neither of us responds. Instead, we take back up arguing the issue of my health and the mission. Eventually, I win by slapping a gloved hand over Ral's mouth.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm going, and that's final. Moody agrees, because I'm the only member of the Order who's a synesthetes." When my partner looks confused by the new term (one I've only just discovered after doing some reading into the strange experiences I've been having for the past seven months), I explain, "It's a person who has a neurological condition called Synesthesia –they have a heightened sensory experience caused by different areas of the brain being stimulated. For instance, a synesthetes might see certain letters or numbers in colour – like, all 'A's would appear green to them, or all '3's would appear red. Some see colours flash before their eyes when they hear certain sounds. There's even some who experience phantom tastes in the mouth whenever a certain word or a foreign language is spoken. In my case, I'm a colour-magic synesthetes – I see magical auras around people." I look down at my toes. "It's something I acquired from-" I swallow back the lump in my throat. "-from Luna, when I…"

I can't admit it, even after all this time. It's too painful to divulge aloud what I accidentally did to Luna out at the Burrow the day of Fred's funeral, even though everyone already knows.

 _You hollowed her out and left her a shell_ , my merciless conscience reminds me.

It had been an accident, but my conscience has never been eased by that knowledge.

Three days post-Battle of Hogwarts, and the Weasley family had decided to lay Fred to rest on the hill behind their home. Luna had been standing next to me, offering silent support as we'd watched a tearful Ron and his family say their goodbyes as Fred's pine box was lowered into the earth. I'd been crying, and Luna had reached out to touch my hand in support, opening her mouth, presumably to say something kind or comforting to me in that soft, whimsical voice of hers. The second her skin touched mine, the curse Bellatrix had laid upon me had activated.

I'm told I hit the ground like a sack of bricks, flailing about. The seizure had locked up my hand muscles, and it had proven extremely difficult to pry Luna's wrist from mine. It had taken them using magic to disconnect us. By then my friend had been completely unresponsive, slumped over me and already in a coma.

I remember none of it after seeing Luna open her mouth to talk to me, or how I happened to grab hold of her wrist. I definitely do not remember draining her of her magical essence and all of her memories. I only recall that the next day, I felt like something Crookshanks had vomited up. I'd also been able to see things that before that I could never see. Colours had seemed more vivid, and I'd been hyper-aware of every tiny bit of movement – the wind blowing against the glass window in the room I'd been given, how red Harry's scar truly was, and the fearful way Ron's eyes would track me.

I'd also been able to see the differences in saturation levels of dark magic in the people around me. I'd become like Moody's false eye – all-seeing, able to discern changes in a person's magical aura and process the meaning.

Ironically, Luna's gift is why I can tell that neither Draco nor Ral has cast the Killing Curse. Nor has Harry, Arthur, Neville, or Minerva, for that matter. On the other hand, I know Moody, Narcissa, and Lupin have, as have almost all of the other Order members, including Ron and Ginny.

In all this time, Luna's talent has never left me, and yet it has taken her a year and a half in the Janus Thickley Ward at St. Mungo's to re-learn how to read and write, and to train up on social cues. I'm told her knowledge base is the equivalent to a first year's at Hogwarts, although she's a Squib and cannot use magic any longer. She's still just as strange, compassionate, and beautiful as before, but she's never regained any of her prior memories or her former gifts. I stole them from her forever, unwittingly, and I have no idea how to give them back.

Ral removes my hand from his mouth and holds it close to his chest. "One day, I hope you'll finally believe me when I tell you that none of this is your fault, Hermione. It's Bellatrix's. Not yours." He steps closer to me, cupping my cheek. "Never yours."

Everyone tells me that, but it doesn't ease the guilt. I'm not sure it ever can.

Ral's face becomes blurred as tears fill my eyes. Hastily, I wipe them away with the back of a hand. "I know," I shakily reply, giving him a tremulous smile. "Thanks, though."

"When you're done holding hands and singing love songs, kiddies, perhaps we could get on with the mission," Moody snarks from the open doorway.

Immediately, Ral and I snap to attention and break apart. Even Malfoy turns away from his brooding contemplation at the window and stands a little straighter. Something about Moody has everyone on their toes every time the man opens his mouth. He doesn't even have to utter the words, 'constant vigilance!' to make a crowd nervous – all he has to do is think them.

He draws out a map, and non-verbally spells it to float in the air before him. Ral, Malfoy, and I gather 'round and receive our last minute instructions.

Hours later, we're back at Grimmauld, and the mission has been a success... although I have no idea what our observations mean in the grand scheme of things.

"Are you sure they were all pure-blood witches?" I ask my teammates again. "I only recognised Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode in the group."

Ral and Draco both nod.

"They were all pure-blood, Granger," Draco confirms for me. "Parkinson, her mother, Bulstrode, Gemma Farley, Lucian Bole's sister, Amaris, Terence Higg's cousin –I forget her name, and Merle Blishwick's three daughters."

"I recognised Patricia Gamp. She'd been in my class with me back at Hogwarts," Ral confirmed. "Grown-up now, but I recognised that same unattractive mole on the side of her nose, poor girl. I'm guessing that was her daughter at her side. They shared the same unfortunate birthmark." He tapped the side of his nose with a grin.

I contemplate what I've been told, cross referencing it against my own recall of the events from this afternoon. "I didn't see a single wand in any witch's hand. It looked to me as if they were being herded into that building against their will by those men."

"Their husbands and fathers, I thought," Draco said. "I recognised some of them, too."

"Didn't notice the lack of wands, I'll admit." Ral sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I did hear the screaming going on inside the place, though, just as the door was opened. You heard it, right?"

Draco and I nod. It had been a terrible sound – feminine shrieking, accompanied by moaning.

"Why would they be torturing their women, though?" I ask. "That makes no sense."

Clearly, none of us can come up with a good theory. We're stumped.

I write up my report that night for Moody and the Order committee, and request that I be sent out on another mission to follow-up. My request goes unanswered.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – March, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_"It's coming back. I can feel it."_

_Draco's mouth hovers next to my right ear as he crowds me from behind, pinning me between his hard, tight body and the first landing's railing. I look down at my gloved hands -they're always gloved now, after the incident with Draco in the kitchen last month- gripping the old, weathered wood in front of me as if my life depended on it, and respond with a simple, "Oh?"_

_He trails his nose very lightly over my earlobe, and even in such a small touch of skin, I can feel a buzz as my body absorbs some of his extra magical energies. It feels good, and I want more._

_"Want to help me work it off?" he offers, nibbling the tender bit of flesh very lightly with his teeth._

_My whole body tingles with repressed desire, co-mingled with fear. The truth is I want desperately to feel such euphoria again –I've thought of little else in the weeks since the incident in the kitchen– and I've loved having magic under my command once more, but I'm sure it would be a mistake under such circumstances. First of all, I've never had sex, and I don't want my first time to be nothing more than a means to an end for my partner, and a curious itch to scratch for me. Secondly, I don't trust Malfoy. I think he would exploit the fact he'd had me first to try to irritate Ron and Harry, and to make me feel like a slag for giving it up to him. Thirdly, I have no idea how many partners he's had, or how expert he may be in bed, but he seems like the type to treat sex like a sport rather than with any sort of respect. I deserve better. And most importantly, he's married. I have no idea where Astoria is, or why he didn't bring her here with him when he came with his mother and Ral, but he's got a wife and isn't free to fraternize with any other woman._

_"I don't think we need to be that close," I say and take off one of my gloves, wiggling my fingers at him. "Simple touching should be just as sufficient to solve both our problems, without causing any... messy entanglements."_

_I place my hand over his on the railing, and my curse goes to work, siphoning off the residual caused by Draco's curse. I feel our sexual connection explode into life, instantaneous and undeniable._

_Draco shudders against me and lays his forehead into the curve of my throat._

_"Oh," I whimper, as my body goes tight and blooms, giving off the light, musky scent of my arousal into the air. It whispers between us, as tantalizing as the feel of his iron-hard erection pressing against my backside._

_His free hand releases the rail and darts under my jumper before I can stop it. His palm is warm as it presses against my womb and begins to rub. Where his fingers caress, magic jumps into me. My breasts become tender and heavy, and I am already sticky and damp between my legs._

_"Oh... oh... no, I..."_

_His mouth finds that sensitive spot on my neck and begins sucking, and I am lost. All of the resistance drains out of me, replaced by need._

_Draco gathers me into his arms, and directs me to the room I've taken as my own while staying here. He shuts and locks the door behind us, and begins stripping us both of our clothes. I'm naked for the first time in front of a man, and it's all so dizzying and unbelievable that I have no time to stop and breathe before I'm on the bed, and he's over me._

_I'm so high from the energy I'm stealing from him that I hardly notice when he steals my virginity from me. There's an uncomfortable stretching, a sharp pinch, and an ache that settles into my hips as he plunges into me, and then there's no more time for thinking. He doesn't make love to me. He fucks me, deeply and thoroughly, until I'm screaming his name and orgasming so hard I see stars. He claims me as his possession a moment later as he empties both his treacherous seed and his dangerous, excess magic into my body._

_The rush of his energy slamming into me a moment after the last tremor subsides knocks the wind from my sails again. I want to scream, but it hurts too much to do so. It's a good kind of hurt, like losing my virginity had been, but it's still pain and my nerve receptors aren't used to the sensation. They fire all at once, and I almost black out._

_It ends quite abruptly, as my system takes in all it can and some odd protective measure–perhaps part of my curse–shuts it off, keeping me from exploding. It takes long minutes after that before I can see straight or breathe right._

_Eventually, Malfoy pulls out of me and stares down the length of our bodies at the mess between our legs. "Shit. Don't move," he says, and hops off the bed to the pile of clothing strewn across the floor. Extricating his wand, he cleans first himself, then me with an easy spell. "I didn't know you were a– That you'd never– Are you okay?" he asks once all the blood is vanished, unexpectedly considerate._

_I nod my head, unsure as to what to say or do now. I have no frame of reference from which to act, and besides, I'm entirely too lethargic to form any kind of coherent sentence at the moment._

_Things grow awkward, as all I can do is stare at him, this man who is my first lover. I take in his tall, thin frame and how he's growing into it now that he's eating and sleeping regularly. I note his shiny, Champagne-coloured hair is mussed, and his pale skin is blemish-free. The hair on his chest and legs and the thatch nestling his exhausted cock are wisps of dark golden threads. He's angular of face, and slim of body, but it's not unattractive or in the least bit feminine. In fact, his look is predatory in much the same way a cheetah is, or in the way a cobra can appear when it stands up and flares its hood._

_I'm sure he's cataloguing me in much the same way as I am him, noting my tangled, curly hair spread across the pillow, my average-sized breasts with their small, beige nipples, the ample curve of my hips, and the wild, dark bush between my legs that I don't shave. I should be embarrassed by such intense scrutiny. I should want to hide my face for the next seventeen years and have my head examined by a psychologist. All I can do is revel in the feel of his pilfered energy bringing me back to life, and enjoy the ache in my joints caused by good sex._

_The seconds of silence stretch into minutes. Sensing I'm unsure as to what to say or do in this case, Draco gathers his clothing from the floor and redresses. He heads for the exit once his shoes are retied, but stops in the now-open doorway. "Thanks, Granger," he mutters, and then darts away, shutting the door behind him before I can respond._

_I sit in the solitude for a while, hurting all over, wondering if I haven't just made the biggest mistake of my life._


	4. Chapter 4

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – March, 2000 (1)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

Draco's wife comes to Grimmauld Place for the first time.

Astoria Malfoy is a beautiful porcelain doll, with her long, blonde hair that is curled into perfect ringlets, her wide, sky-blue eyes with their long, thick lashes, and her perfect heart-shaped mouth and face. She's dressed in a conservative witch's robes of the very highest quality materials, and shiny leather button shoes. Honestly, she looks like she just stepped out of the pages of a Victorian model's catalogue, circa 1890.

It's irrational, but I despise her at first glance. I especially hate the way she clings to Malfoy's arm like she's some weak, little kitten in need of protection, when I know from rumour that she's a vicious viper, capable of killing just as easily as purring. Her dark aura confirms it, too - she's committed intentional murder and more. In fact, I'm quite shocked by how dark her energy is.

Apparently, she's come to the Order in lieu of her Master, Severus Snape, to deliver some vital, game-changing information _–_  for Lupin's ears only, or some such tosh.

Ginny recently told me that she'd heard from Parvati, who'd heard from Seamus, who gotten an owl from Neville, who'd overheard McGonagall talking that the youngest Greengrass daughter is the perfect spy for one reason alone: she's completely, sickeningly devoted to Draco, willing to do anything he asks once he flashes her his patented Malfoy smile. I see them talking together in low voices, sharing a secret glance, and I find myself believing the gossip tree this one time. She looks at her husband as if the world revolves around him, and in her gaze there is a ravenous hunger for his touch.

I have to wonder if I look at him the same way.

They pass me on the stairs, ignoring me completely, as they head up to Draco's bedroom. I hear the door shut and lock behind them, and then no more. Astoria's cast a Silencing Charm for a reason that's obvious.

I feel the need to shatter something. My back teeth ache with the desire. I head down into the kitchen, and unwisely use some of the magic I've stored up from my time with Draco to release my own wandless Silencing Charm around the area. Then, I proceed to destroy the contents of the plate cabinet.

Ral finds me crying, surrounded by broken ceramic, twenty minutes later. He uses his wand to make everything right, and then hugs me close to his chest, trying in vain to fix my broken heart, as well. There's only so much I'll allow him to do in the name of friendship, however, and when he attempts to cross that line by kissing me, I push back.

"I can't," I whisper, staring up at him with tears in my eyes.

He is wounded by the rejection, but he gives me a reassuring smile. "I know."

It's such a sad admission, reminiscent of the one I gave Ginny not a week and a half ago, that it tears into me, revealing the truth: Ral's love for me is as hopeless as mine is for Draco.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – April, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_Malfoy's setting up the chess board in the Living Room as I sit at the recently re-tuned piano (thanks to Rabastan, who enjoys playing as well) and call-up my childhood lessons once more to perform a passable rendition of 'Fur Elise'._

_"Want to play with me?"_

_His seemingly innocent question carries the weight of double entendre._

_"I don't know how," I lie, not sure I want to be sucked into any further amusement Draco Malfoy has to offer._

_"I'll teach you," he proposes, a mischievous glint in his eye._

_"I'd rather not."_

_The truth is I'm terrible at chess. Ron was always better at it than me – which irks me to no end. I'd like to be a better player, of course, but for all my analytical abilities, I have trouble making spontaneous decisions based on visual cues, especially when there's an audience of any kind. I'm the type to reason things out in my head, step-by-step, taking my time to puzzle through the problem. Chess doesn't give you that opportunity; you have to make decisions relatively quickly, or the game drags on for hours._

_Like poker, it also requires you to size-up your opponent on the fly, not just pay attention to their moves on the board. Anticipating what a challenger might do next is part of what makes chess so difficult for me. I'm Gryffindor, not Slytherin. I'm used to bold, up-front declarations of intent, not propaganda and psychological warfare (which is why I despised Umbridge so much, with her fake smiles and her neon pink lies)._

_I'd rather Malfoy not know this particular weakness of mine though, because I fear he'd exploit it to taunt me. Not that he's given any indication of wanting to resume his life's goal of being an utter prat since he's come here (in fact, he's shown remarkable respect for me, but I think that's because I took care of his mother while she was unconscious), but still, I'm understandably weary of him._

_"Never pegged a Gryffindor for cowardice," he teases me. "But then, lions are known for retreating in the face of something as small and harmless as a snake."_

_Another gauntlet is thrown at me. Of course, I can't help but pick it up._

_"No snake is ever harmless," I remind us both, and with a weary sigh, I get up from my seat before the piano, and take a seat across from Draco at the small table he's set-up with a wizard's chess set. "This game is barbaric, you know," I inform him._

_He grins, and I'll admit, 'snarky' is a good look for him. "That's because it reflects real life."_

_"Cynic."_

_"Cherry."_

_"Not anymore. You made sure of that," I say with heat – the angry kind._

_Malfoy's silvery gaze glances up at me in surprise, but his features quickly transform, filled with arrogance and heat – the sexy kind. "Look, we both know we're on edge because it's just about that time of the month again – and I don't mean your flow. I'm talking about our curses. What do you say we make this time more interesting with a wager? Loser gives the winner any one thing they want," he bargains._

_I consider it. "Within reason," I state, liking the idea of requiring him to do the dishes_ _à la_ _Muggle._

_"State your terms."_

_We negotiate. He wants sexual favours, of course. I want house chores._

_We start, and I give it a fierce fight, but in the end, the git Checkmates me._

_I switch tactics the moment he gets up from the table and pulls me into his arms, going on the offensive out of pure, unadulterated fear. "I retract my offer. You can't make me do this," I state, emphatic. I even stomp my foot to punctuate my resolve. "If it's to settle your curse, we'll sit on the sofa and you can stretch your hand across from your side, but I refuse to do more than that with you anymore."_

_Draco's lids lower in sultry insistence. "Granger, are you going back on your word?"_

_"Unrepentantly, yes."_

_He laughs, and it's a sinful sound. "No, you're not. You're just scared."_

_"I am not!"_

_"Are, too," he debates. "You know that what I want to do to you is only partially to do with my curse. I liked fucking you – and I know you liked it, too. Besides, you know that what you're proposing won't work, even if this was just about getting rid of some excess energy. This... whatever it is, it makes us horny as bunnies for each other the second we touch. No way are you resisting that."_

_"We're not animals, Malfoy. We're thinking human beings." I run my gloved hand through my hair, and get snagged on a small knot. I finger through it, clearing it, even as I continue my assertion. "We can figure out a way to transfer your energy to me without us ending up in bed again."_

_"Think so?" he asks with a darkly, amused smirk. "When you're the only outlet in the world that seems to work to keep me from exploding?"_

_I growl. "I will not be compared to a Muggle electrical socket, thank you very much! And I've given us a viable plan. You stay on your side of the couch, I on mine. We stretch our hands across. They meet in the middle. You transfer your magic. When it's done, we go back to our separate lives for three or four more weeks. End of story."_

_He shakes his head, but plants his bum on the right side of the sofa and reaches for me. "Your reputation for being honest and keeping your word is being shredded, but alright, we'll try it your way."_

_As I settle into the left side of the sofa and remove my glove, I steady my nerves and repeat over and over in my head that I must maintain absolute control this time._

_Our fingertips brush and it tingles. He entwines our fingers with a groan._

_It's nearly impossible not to feel the desire sweep me away, no matter my mental fortitude. The exchange is so powerful, so overwhelming. Leaning back into the cushions and rubbing the front of my jeans with my free hand, I try to stave off the arousal, but instead end up quickly bring myself to orgasm._

_Nearly salivating in lust, Malfoy crawls towards me, closing the distance between us. His mouth is at my throat again, his big body blanketing mine as he sits across my lap. "Told you," he pants._

_"Heavy," is all I can manage to get out before his teeth clamp down on my pulse and I'm devastated once more._

_We wrestle for dominance, and somehow I end up on top. We tear our clothing off – just the bits that count, and then he's sliding into me again and I feel such fulfilment that I nearly faint. He teaches me how to ride him, and I come again in this position, my clit and g-spot stimulated perfectly._

_As I orgasm for a third and final time, he slams up into me and releases with a shout of incoherent words. The rush of his magic leaving him and entering me in a giant wave crashes over me a moment later. I cry out, and his arms come around me, pulling me to his chest, holding me safe. I'm sobbing as the pain and pleasure converge._

_In the aftermath, I'm drained... and filled up. It's so much sensation, I'm drunk on it._

_I'm so fuzzy that I don't notice when he pulls me off of him, or as he adjusts a blanket over my half-naked form for cover, or even as he redresses. I do hear, 'Thanks, Granger,' though, as he leaves and those two words cut through the haze of bliss to leave me cold once more._

_I'm nothing but an outlet for him, and he's married, and we both know this is wrong... but it seems we'll never be able to stop until our curses are cancelled._

_I feel so helpless... so used._


	5. Chapter 5

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – March, 2000 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

I'm staring out the Living Room's front window onto the street outside, noting the way the rain slashes against the glass, and how the Muggles outside are oblivious to us being here as they muddle past with umbrellas held tight against the strong blowing wind.

I come here often to think; it's my favourite room in the house.

It's been a day since Malfoy disappeared with his wife into his bedroom. I'm sure they've come out for food a few times, but since I'm keeping to myself in this room, ducking out only occasionally to nip a bite from the kitchens or to use the loo down the hall, and I'm sleeping on the couch down here, I don't see or hear them upstairs. I'm doing what I do best when under stress: research.

I pour over maps that mark the areas of known Death Eater houses like the ones Ral, Draco, and I were sent to observe last month, and read the intelligence reports from the field that Lupin sends me from other teams, looking for any weakness in the enemy that we might exploit. Those reports only confirm the strangeness that I observed on my last mission: pure-blood witches are being rounded up, taken to cottages, barns, and houses out in the country, and tortured. One report also mentions that many of those escorting the women inside the buildings are the younger generation of recruits to Voldemort's cause –insignificant nobodies, really– and that those young men all seem rather jumpy or nervous.

Perhaps they are being asked to do something they feel squeamish doing – like raping females, or cutting them up? I have no way of knowing, really, and not enough information at my disposal to even attempt a real guess.

We need more intel. I only hope Moody can supply it soon, for I have a very bad feeling buzzing around in me regarding what was going on inside those buildings. My intuition screams at me that there is something bigger and more important than just what we're seeing on the surface.

When I need a break from reading, I head over to the house piano and sit for a time to play, using the other half of my brain. The months of practice here, coupled with my years of intense lessons, come back to me and after a bit of a warm-up, I'm able to play ' _Clair de Lune'_  with some measure of skill.

As I let the calm of the music wash over me, my concentration splits. Having an over-active brain can be god-awful sometimes, while other times, it's a god-send. I am so caught up in my internal thoughts that I fail to hear the door open behind me. I do hear the venomous voice of Astoria Malfoy, however, when she speaks to me.

"So, you're the resident whore."

Abruptly, I stop playing and turn in the seat to face her. Her particular phrasing has my hackles up, but I try to play it cool. I'm the older and more mature one here, after all.

"Oh?"

Leaving my responses vague forces her to divulge more – which will make her show more of her cards. I can better assess her as an enemy in this way.

I shut off my emotions, and turn on my ability to listen and observe.

"No need to play coy, Miss Granger. Everyone talks about it," she assures me with a sincere nod. "You're assigned here to bring comfort to the men when they come in from the fighting. I wonder: do you spread your legs for the witches, too?"

Her flat, blue eyes reflect a cruel amusement and a self-congratulatory smugness at knowing she's stung me with her insults, despite my best poker face. What woman, after all, wouldn't be hurt by being named a whore by another woman?

So, my foe's opening move in this game between us is offensive, rather than defensive, establishing the power in her favour. In chess terms, Ron would say she has just successfully established the opening of the Sicilian Defence – a manoeuvre that invariably leads to Black's win on the board most times.

I consider a counter, assessing her in a sweeping glance.

There's definitely intelligence in Astoria... but not wisdom. Her lack of experience makes her foolish and bold, when she should be cautious and circumspect. She's also vain and arrogant, which I suspect will be her ultimate downfall. I suspect she may even be a touch mad, if the glint in her eye is anything to judge by. She reminds me a bit of Bellatrix Lestrange, with her eyes bugging a bit from their sockets.

It's my move. Time to swing the power back my way. I'll go with a classic Morra Gambit move – sacrificing a pawn (my pride, in this case) to create new attack chances and throw her off kilter. "It depends. Are you propositioning me?" I ask with a perfectly straight face. "Because everyone knows I'm partial to blondes."

Astoria reels back, a look of disgust upon her face.

I hear an imaginary 'ding' in my head, and tick a tally off for my side. Goodness, Ron would be proud that I actually listened to him all those times we played chess! The application of the game in real life while jockeying for power is quite stimulating.

I throw Astoria my best Malfoy-ish smirk. Her face transforms into a snarl, but before she can reply, Ral rounds the corner and leans against the doorway.

"She does – prefer blonds, that is," he backs me up, a teasing glint in his eye. "Everyone here can happily attest to that fact."

He isn't implying I'm all over him, but he  _does_  intimate that I have a thing for men like Astoria's husband – and that the interest isn't one sided. In chess terms, he's just pulled a "Bishop to C4", which is a classic threatening position when using the Morra Gambit. Any novice player would see this move as White being two steps away from Checkmating Black, should Black fumble their next move. A re-strategizing by Black is typically in order at this point, and usually there is a sacrifice of a pawn or two for them to regain some ground if the game is to continue.

Astoria doesn't act predictably, though. She does something quite irregular, in fact. Smoothing down the front of her dress, she smiles at me, and is suddenly all politesse. "Yes, well, it's been lovely meeting you at last, Miss Granger. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

Rather than face a humiliating rout, my opponent withdraws, suspending the game. I realise then that she's too much a Slytherin to threaten someone in front of witnesses, and too much a coward to take on two people at once. No doubt, however, she'll demand a rematch with me, and soon.

"I'll be counting the hours with great anticipation," I mockingly reassure her.

Turning her nose up in dismissal, the witch marches from the room, heading back down the hallway. Her heeled footsteps are clipped as she hurries away.

Ral chuckles and it is a dark, sinful sound that I find I actually like. "You can do some serious damage with that sharp tongue of yours, love."

I put on airs and strike an exaggerated pose, flexing my arm muscles. "You should see me when I have a wand in my hand."

He puts his hands up in surrender. "I'm sure you'd slice me up like a melon, if given the chance."

I play along. "Ooh, I'd love a bit of fresh cantaloupe right about now!"

He raps his knuckles against the side of his head. "Sorry, out of season."

We trade smiles over that, and I suddenly feel so much better. Not even the fact that Astoria's upstairs right now seeking comfort from Draco, most likely with crocodile tears in her big, blue eyes and bemoaning my cruelty, can keep me from sharing a laugh with Ral.

Maybe there is something there I ought to explore.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – May, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

" _You're shagging him?!"_

_I roll my eyes. "For the hundredth time, Gin, it's not like that."_

_Ginny gives me the raised eyebrow and the knowing look. "Does his penis go into your twat?"_

" _GIN!"_

_I'm astonished by her language, and the naughty, knowing smirk on her face._

" _Well, does it?" she persists._

_I sigh. "Our curses counter each other. He generates too much energy, I absorb it. I keep him from blowing the house up and he lets me have magic again… at least until I've used up the reserve he gives me. It's a mutually beneficial relationship, that's all."_

_If I tell myself that enough times, maybe I won't be so hurt by the fact that I'm being used as a sexual outlet – a whore, in effect._

_Ginny leans in until her face is an inch from mine. "Do you like it?"_

_I look down, but she refuses to let me get away without answering. Her face dips until I'm forced to look at her again. "It feels very nice while it's happening," I say, deciding on implication and safety, rather than full disclosure._

_My best girlfriend busts out into laughter. "Very nice? Merlin, 'Mione, you make it sound like a simple walk in the park. You gave the man your virginity!"_

_I sit back on my bed, crossing my legs, and shrug. "What do you want me to say? I enjoy it, yes. It's very freeing, and it feels wonderful, and I get magic out of the deal."_

_Again, who am I convincing?_

_Oh, that's right: me._

_Gin has lost all her amusement, and looks at me through narrowed eyes. "You're making it sound like a business transaction."_

" _Isn't it?"_

_It's a fair question, and in fact, it's closer to the truth than anything else._

" _That's awfully mercenary of you. I think the Slytherins in the house are rubbing off on you."_

_I glance down at the worn quilt under me, and note that it needs re-stitching. Maybe that's something I'll take up during the one week near the end of the month, when my menses come and the magic I steal has run its course, and I'm empty and useless to the cause once more._

_No, wait, I promised myself I'd read those chess strategy books. I intend to learn the game, so I can never be beaten again._

" _I missed you and the boys at Easter," I say, wanting to change the subject. "That's two years in a row."_

_Ginny sighs, and throws herself back on the bed, staring up at the greyish ceiling. "Rabastan's fit… for an old guy. He's probably got a lot of pent up sexual tension from all those years he was locked up. Why don't you go for him instead?"_

_I picked up my pillow and whomp my best girlfriend over the face with it, sputtering a protest... even as a part of me thinks she might not be giving me such bad advice._


	6. Chapter 6

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – March, 2000 (3)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

After meeting with Lupin in a secured bedroom upstairs to make her report, Astoria's slithered back to the den of snakes to continue her spy activity for the Order. Soon after the front door shuts behind her tiny arse, Draco comes whistling back into my life, entering the Living Room to no doubt gloat about his various sexcapades with his very accommodating wife.

Ral and I are sitting at the piano, heads together, playing a silly version of ' _Heart and Soul'_  and giggling over how we can't seem to get it right.

I turn at the sound of Draco's whistling abruptly cutting off, and note the shocked expression on his face as he looks from me to Ral and back again. "Everything okay?" I ask, trying not to keep my heart from crawling up my throat as his features shift into something more cynical and angry a beat later. "Where's Remus?" I purposefully don't ask him about his wife, because frankly, I don't care whether she safely made it off or not. Personally, I'm hoping all the pouring rain outside ruined her perfect hairdo before she Disapparated away.

Malfoy shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and walks across the room to stare out the front windows, as he does practically every day. "Kitchen. Grabbing a bite." He sounds surly.

Uh-oh. He's brewing for a fight. I recognise the signs well by now.

Ral, who also knows how touchy Draco can be, pulls me back into our previous activity with a soft caress upon my covered shoulder. "Try it again, love?" he asks, working too hard to recapture our earlier silliness in the now tense atmosphere.

"Sure."

I give it a go with Ral, but am also poignantly aware of Malfoy's presence in the room, and that he's listening as Ral flirts and tries to coax me into ignoring the black cloud in the room. As I miss a note, and struggle to recover, I wonder if I'm not convincing myself that there's more to Draco's odd behaviour than is really there. Maybe he just misses his wife all of the sudden, and he's thinking of her right now, and his stiff shoulders and the dark look in his eye had everything to do with that, and nothing to do with me.

Then again, he had been whistling happily before he'd rounded the doorjamb and spied Ral and I playing.

"Relax," Ral coaches me. "You're trying too hard. This isn't chess, where you have to think ahead. Just let the music flow naturally."

"Oh, but playing games is what Granger's best at," Draco states, his tone cutting and cruel. He glances at us over his shoulder, and gives me a nasty smirk. "She likes manoeuvering little people around, even more than she likes performing for them."

The piano goes silent as both Ral and I are floored by what was just said.

I feel the blood drain from my face, and something awful and queasy churns in my guts.

"You're out of line, Draco," Ral says, his tone hard and chastising.

"No, you are,  _Ral,_ " Draco sneers, turning on his heel and stomping over to us.

There's a game of silent wills going on between the two men as Ral makes his feet and steps around the piano bench to face off with his brother's nephew by marriage. I have no idea what's going on or how things have gotten so out of control so quickly, but I do know that there seems to be a brawl fast approaching, and I'm at the centre of the storm.

"Leave her alone," Ral growls. "You've hurt her enough."

Draco bears his teeth. His eyes begin to glow red.

I stand up, moving between him and Ral. "What's gotten into you?" I snap at Draco. "How dare you say such things? And what's with the eyes? There's still two weeks at least until-"

He grabs my hand and tugs me towards him until our bodies smash together. "Now," he snarls, and I know what he wants. It's right there in the set of his jaw, in the gleam in his eye... pressing against my hip.

"No," I refuse, shoving against him, as he reaches for the hem of my shirt. I won't do this with Ral standing right here. Besides, there's something wrong, and this doesn't feel like our typical arrangement. Something's changed.

Draco's whole body begins to shake and he turns to Ral. "Get out."

Ral stands his ground. Half-turned towards him as I am, I can see the indecision upon his face. His eyes alight on me. "Hermione, do you want–?" He can't seem to finish that sentence. "I won't let him force you. It has to be your decision."

I glance back at Draco, concerned. His eyes are redder, and I can see the magic coursing under his skin. He's built up too much, too fast. How, I have no idea, but the signs are all there. If I don't help him, it could be disastrous. But can I take in any more magic? I've used up half the reserves I received from our last round together already. Still, I'm not sure my body can handle such a shock twice in a month. Yet, if I don't try...

With a sigh, I give in. Clearly, he's in a dangerous place, and something has to be done to stop him from exploding. But there's more to it than that: I need to be with him after Astoria, even knowing he's had her, and he quite possibly loves his wife, and thinks me nothing more than a convenience. I'm sacrificing another Pawn so I can keep the board in play just a little longer.

When he reaches up to cup my cheek, I feel it start – that sensual, sexual connection that can never be denied, coupled with the exchange of energy.

"Ral, go," I mutter, my eyes already rolling back into my head.

The door shuts behind my friend on his way out of the Living Room, but I don't hear his footsteps walking away. A part of me thinks he might be listening just outside in the hallway, but the junkie half of me –the part that craves what only Draco can safely give me– is too caught up in the riot of sensation to care.

"You're not to touch him again," Draco whispers a bit menacingly. His lips are a bare inch from my own, and his free hand is already tearing at my clothing. "I'm the only one who can give you what you need."

He takes me down to the floor, and then nothing else matters.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 1999 (1)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_"You're pregnant."_

_I try to deny it, but it's impossible to do so bent over the toilet as I am. Rabastan is holding my hair back by the end so I don't get vomit in it._

_As a last bit of breakfast comes up, my throat burns as badly as the tears in my eyes do. I've been trying to ignore the truth for the past week, but the dizziness, the nausea, the tiredness all add up to only one conclusion._

_Having never been sexually involved before, and not being able to leave the house, it's not like I've had the ability to go out and grab any form of birth control option. I suppose I can use the magic I've stolen from Draco to make a potion to prevent conception, but the ingredients for it are very specific, and I'd have to ask outsiders to bring them to me. Then they'd know that I was having sex with Malfoy – because, really, it wouldn't be a stretch for them to figure out which of the two men in the house I'm involved with, given the nature of my counteracting curse to Malfoy's, and the fact Grimmauld Place hasn't been turned into a smoking ruin by now._

_Besides, it's a little too late now for potions, pills, or shots to prevent pregnancy._

_I sit on the tile floor in the bathroom, put my face in my hands, and sob as quietly as possible. True, I'd used some of my power to wandlessly cast a Silencing Charm on the bathroom when I'd rushed in here earlier, and no one outside can hear my crying fit now, but I still don't want to chance Malfoy finding out. It is bad enough Rabastan caught me green-faced and running into the loo a few minutes ago._

_Lestrange sits behind me, and carefully reaches out to touch the shoulder of my nightshirt. "How far along are you?"_

_I shake my head. "I'm not sure."_

_"We need to get you to Mungo's. You have to see a Healer."_

_"I can't," I protest, dashing the tears from my cheeks. "If they touch me..."_

_"We'll explain it to them," Rabastan states, firm in his decision. "You have to know how many weeks you are, and need to start on a vitamin potions regime_ – _"_

_"I'm not keeping it."_

_My companion goes still and silent, shocked by the idea, I think._

_"What if it's born with the same curse, or worse?" I whisper in horror, trying to explain my reasons for wanting an abortion. "What if my baby grows up having to steal energy from others –hurting or killing them– just to live?" Resolutely, I shake my head. "I couldn't condemn a child to that kind of life. I couldn't unleash it on the world, either. Whatever harm they did would be my responsibility."_

_"You're making a big assumption," Rabastan points out. "What if it's a perfectly normal witch or wizard?"_

_"It's too big a risk," I counter._

_"You're scared."_

_"Yes, I am!" I admit. "There are too many unknown variables, too much potential for a poor or negative outcome. Even if the child is normal, there's still the problem of Draco. He's married, Rabastan, and not to me! And I'm Muggle-born to boot – no better than a house-elf to him. He'd never accept a bastard, half-blood child as his first born." I rub my hand over my tummy, hurt by the knowledge. "My baby would forever be hated by her father, if he or his family didn't try to murder her, that is." The tears fall once more down my cheeks, and this time I don't stop them. "I can't do it. I can't!"_

_"I don't agree, but it's your body, your choice," Rabastan gives. "No matter what, you'll still need to see a Healer, though. I'll go with you, if you want. You can say it's mine, if you want to keep Malfoy's name entirely out of it."_

_His hand slips down my arm, and glides over my bare hand to try to give me physical support. Immediately, my curse activates. I feel the draw of his magic and the mounting sexual hunger in my belly for him. My earlier illness is forgotten._

_A memory that isn't mine bursts into light in my head..._

_Rabastan is gloriously naked in his bed, sleeping over the covers because it's too hot. A lone candle sits on the small bedside table next to him, illuminating the room. One of his hands is gliding over his pale torso, running through the crisp, dark gold hair across his chest. His other hand is stroking his long, thick cock, trying to alleviate his arousal while listening to the sounds from the bedroom directly below him. A woman's voice –my voice– cries out in rapture. A bed rhythmically squeaks and a headboard hits the wall once, twice. The sound grows louder as Malfoy and I really get into it._

_"Fuck me," Rabastan whispers, his eyes closed, his hand stroking harder, faster. "Fuck me harder, Hermione... love..."_

_A pleasure-filled scream from below –mine– is accompanied by Rabastan's moan as he comes. White streams of creamy seed spill all over his lower abdomen and down his fisted hand..._

_I pull my hand from Rabastan's with force, and crab-crawl backwards in the small bathroom, until my back hits the wall. "Oh, my God," I murmur, staring at him as if I've never seen him before - which is kind-of true. We're still new to the whole friendship thing, only having known each other these past six months, but I didn't know his feelings for me have evolved so quickly in that time... or that he listens to me and Malfoy having sex._

_Rabastan's cheeks are like twin cherry tomatoes, but he's staring at me with blatant, unapologetic lust. I chance a quick look down, and yes, he has an erection. The bulge in his pyjamas looks quite intimidating from where I'm sitting._

_"The house isn't that big, love, and it's old. Not very sound proof," he explains._

_"You could have cast_ – _"_

_"I have no wand for a Silencing Charm, remember?" he reminds me._

_"Put cotton in your ears, then," I argue, my face I'm sure as red as his._

_He smirks at me with a playful curl of his lips. "And miss hearing you cry out like that? I'm not that much of a redeemed man, love." He crawls closer to me, pressing in until his face is mere inches from mine. His eyes are locked on my lips, and I can read his intent in them as clear as day. "It may not be me you're fucking, Hermione, but I've got a good enough imagination to more than make up for that_ – _" His grin widens. "_ – _as you now know."_

_He pulls away and stands up, offering me his hand again._

_I refuse to take it, not wanting to borrow any more energy or memories from him. As it stands, I don't know if what I've taken from him is a permanent drain, like in Luna's case, or if like blood, it'll replenish itself over the course of weeks. I don't want to take any chances._

_"You're still going to go to St. Mungo's," he tells me, turning towards the sink. Grabbing a small cloth towel from the rack, he turns on the tap and wets it, then wrings it out and passes it to me. "For your face."_

_"I know," I growl, taking the towel a bit petulantly and using the cool cloth to clean up a bit._

_Rabastan heads for the door. "Get dressed. I'll Floo-call the Burrow to ask Lupin for permission for us both."_

_"What will you tell him?"_

_I mean Draco. Rabastan understands. Still, he responds as if we're discussing Remus instead. "That you have feminine needs to take care of, and I've got headaches I want looked at."_

_"You have headaches?"_

_He shrugs. "I suspect I need reading glasses. Azkaban didn't offer such a luxury, but now that I'm here with a library at my disposal, I'd like to catch up on the classics."_

_With that, he's gone, leaving me to shower and make ready my day._

_It occurs to me as I hop under a warm spray that this will be the first time I've been out of the house in almost a year – all thanks to Draco's insatiable libido and Rabastan's insistence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Draco's jealously of Ral's place in Hermione's life finally rears its ugly head in the present, and Hermione was pregnant with Draco's child in the past. What will this lead to in the future?


	7. Chapter 7

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – March, 2000 (4)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

I claw my nails down Malfoy's back as he pounds me into the Living Room rug.

He's dragged me down here like some kind of slapper, stripped me of half my clothing, and has proceeded to take me without care. I want him to pay for that mistreatment. I want him to walk away from this liaison and know I've cut him up, if less deeply, than he cuts me.

He bites my throat, pinning me like an animal, slamming his hips forward. I bite him back in frustration and a sense of helplessness. His moan of pleasure is loud in my ear.

"That's it, Granger, give it to me," he coerces, his cock sinking deeply into my hot, wet core. "Give me all of you. Get angry. Show me the truth."

I shiver at his words and let my grip on his pulse go, pressing my face into his shoulder instead. He's never spoken to me during the act before, and to hear him say such things in a purring, sexy whisper…

I hold onto him tighter, whimpering as he brings me to the edge. "Don't say 'thanks' to me after," I demand, pulling his hair and locking my ankles around his back. "Not ever again."

He nods in agreement.

"Don't let go so soon afterwards, either," I push my luck.

"Won't," he growls low in promise, and wraps his arms around me in such a way that my hips are off the floor and our pelvises are pressed tight together. He grinds his cock in and out, rubbing my clit just perfectly. "God, I want you to come so fucking hard for me. Will you come for me again?"

"Yes," I sob, flexing my arse in time to his rocking hips to create the perfect friction for us both. "I'm almost– Yes!"

I bite the curve of his shoulder and scream into it as I climax in a powerful wave of heat and relief. Every muscle goes tight, and inside I uncontrollably pulse around him until my head feels dizzy and I'm seeing spots. I feel his wet heat filling me as he hunches up and drops his face into the pillow of my breasts, roaring his release.

It is the first time we've come at the exact same moment, together. We've finally perfected the art of fucking, it seems.

Draco holds tight to me as his excess magical energy thunders out of him, overloading my senses once again. It hurts as it usually does... and then it gets worse. I'm suddenly too full, bursting at the seams. I scream in pain and start crying. There is no pleasure in this, only fiery pins attacking every nerve.

Ral hammers on the door in an instant, his shouting voice muffled by the wooden barrier between us. "Hermione? Hermione, do you need me to help? What are you doing to her, you bastard?"

"I've got her," Draco snarls. "Bugger off!"

"Hermione? Answer if you can," Ral insists.

I can't answer. From head to toe, it's like I'm being slashed at by knives. It reminds me of the Cruciatus Curse.

"I've got you, Granger," Draco says, rocking me back and forth. "Just hold onto me."

"Hurts," I rasp, sobbing. "It h-h-hurts."

Draco presses his forehead against mine. "Then give it back to me. Shove it back at me, so it'll stop hurting you."

His lips lightly hover over mine, and then he presses in. Our first kiss is sweet, reverent, completely the opposite of everything we've ever done together... and there's a strange reversal of the energy as a result. I feel some of the magic leave me, returning to its original vessel. The pain lessens with its going. Draco, on the other hand, groans and I can tell the return of some of the magic he's given me hurts him. He experiences some of what I do in that moment.

And then, it just... stops. We're still touching–intimately so–but there's an odd equilibrium between us. It's as if our curses are nullified for the moment, as the energy levels between us perfectly balance.

Finally, he pulls back from the kiss, and we stare at each other in wonder.

"Hermione? Are you all right?"

Ral's tone is a bit panicked, and it breaks the magical moment between Draco and me.

To my surprise, but just as I'd requested, Draco doesn't pull out or away from me as he usually does after we're done. Instead, he sits up on his haunches and holds me safe in his embrace. Our bodies are still connected, humming as we're sharing energy now, and it feels wonderful to just sit in his lap and feel him without worrying about my curse draining him.

"Hermione?"

I sigh. I suppose I had better alleviate some of Ral's worry before he breaks the door down and sees more than I'm comfortable with him seeing.

"I'm okay, Ral," I shout towards the door. "Everything's okay."

There's an awkward pause. "Do you need anything?"

I feel my heart break a little at the tremor in Ral's voice. My sweet, lonely Knight is hoping to stay at my side, maybe even play the role of a Pawn so he can be promoted... but there can only ever be one King on the board in the end game.

"No, but... thank you." I try to make it as gentle a let-down as possible.

Another silence ensues, and then Ral sighs. "All right, then."

His footsteps move off down the hallway until I hear them no more.

"You sure about that?" Draco asks me. He leans back, looking me in the eye.

No, I'm not sure of anything anymore.

"What's changed?" I ask him instead, dodging his question.

He contemplates my bottom lip for a while before answering. "Everything."

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 1999 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_I've lost the baby._

_The vomiting, dizziness, and abdominal pains I've been experiencing haven't been because I've been enjoying a normal, healthy pregnancy, but rather because I've miscarried – what is termed a 'missed abortion'. I've killed the baby in utero by sucking its magical and life energies up. No bleeding or expelling of pregnancy tissues has kept me from knowing the foetus is no long viable, and the symptoms I've been experiencing are a result of Toxic Shock Syndrome._

_The truth hits me with all the force of a Reducto to the face: I will never be able to have children. My curse will assure I'll kill them every time._

_Bellatrix's words come back to me: "Your kind are all dirty, foul thieves from the moment of your birth until your death. I'll prove it to you."_

_I cry for a long time in Rabastan's arms, and he is careful of not touching my skin as he holds me in silence._

_In the aftermath of my tears, he assures the doctor proscribes and supplies a year's worth of pregnancy-protection potion for me. The small vials are so tiny, they're easy to carry back to Grimmauld when we, at last, leave the hospital and are taken by Side-Along Apparition by Moody and McGonagall back home._

_Thankfully, neither of my mentors asks me any questions about my visit. They seemed to intuitively sense I don't want to talk about it._

_Malfoy, of course, flips his wig when he finds out Rabastan and I left the house._

_When Rabastan explains that we'd both needed to go to St. Mungo's for routine check-ups, and that there had been no excitement by being prodded by Healers, though, Draco shuts up. Apparently, he doesn't like hospitals, and in this case, is glad to have been left at home._

_To my surprise, Narcissa Malfoy is waiting for us at Grimmauld as well. I assume she came to visit her son while her housemate, Minerva, was tasked to shuttle me back and forth between here at the hospital. I'm unnerved by the knowing look in the elder woman's eye, and the rather formal way she asks me to have tea with her in the Sitting Room._

_Only once I'm seated across from her in our closed and private sanctuary, enjoying a cup of steaming tea, does Draco's mother make known her reasons for coming here today._

_"I want to thank you for saving my son's life." She lifts her cup half way to her lips. "I know what my sister, Bellatrix, did to you. I was there as witness, if you'll recall, although I do not know the spell she used, I admit. It was of a darker nature of magic than I've ever been comfortable learning." She sips her tea in a very refined manner, and I'm self-conscious of the way I hold my cup and saucer as my fingers tremble. "She cursed Draco in the same way – again with a magic I have no knowledge of or can counter. When I realised what was happening to him, I convinced him to cast off what he could with spellwork, but the magic is dark, and so only dark curses can be used to drain it." She looks hard at me. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"_

_I nod, putting two and two together. "He used Unforgivables to get rid of the excess magic building up in him. That's why I can see darkness around him. He's never cast the Killing Curse, though."_

_"Never," his mother confirmed for me. "But doing what he did had kept the Dark Lord from destroying him, and it staved off his aunt's curse."_

_"So what changed just before the New Year?" I ask, sincerely curious._

_Narcissa takes another sip of tea before replying, and I can see the calculation in her eyes as to just how much to reveal to me._

_"He married Astoria Greengrass."_

_I frown. "And that affected him enough to... lose control?"_

_"Apparently. I'm still unclear as to why, though." Her gaze seems troubled. When it turns on me again a moment later, however, it's hardened once more. "Tell me, Miss Granger: are you having an affair with my son?"_

_I choke on my drink, and have to hurriedly put the cup and saucer down on the coffee table and reach for the napkin in my lap. Tea burns as it comes out of one's nose, I discover. After a rather embarrassing coughing fit, I recover enough to answer her._

_"No offence meant, ma'am, but I can't see as how that's any of your business."_

_Narcissa Malfoy takes a last sip of her tea and sets aside her cup and saucer as well."Let me begin this in a different way: it should be no surprise to someone as astute as you that the purest of pure-blood families tend to have only a single heir. Pure-blood witches have extreme difficulty conceiving and carrying babies to term. Why do you think Lucius and I were only ever able to have a single son? Why do you think my sister, Bellatrix, has no children, and even my sister, Andromeda, who married a Muggle, still has only ever been able to produce a single child?"_

_"I see," I cautiously reply._

_"It is the same for most of the purest families, including the Bulstrodes, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Notts, the Longbottoms, the Rosiers, the Parkinsons, etcetera. Even Charlus Potter, your Harry's grandfather, only ever had one son."_

_"But not the Weasleys," I point out._

_Narcissa seems amused at this, almost expecting my rebuttal. "That is because of the Weasley matriarch. Her family, the Prewetts, didn't always marry pure until this last century. Before that, they were known to marry half-bloods and Muggle-borns, and even a Muggle or two."_

_I give her a flat look. "So, if low birth rates amongst pure-bloods are a problem, then your solution is to be more heterogeneous."_

_Which is what this bloody war is all about, after all._

_"Exactly," Narcissa confirms for me, her face coming alive with an odd zeal._

_I frown. "Yet, you married your son off to a pure-blood witch."_

_Narcissa is quiet for a moment, trading her enthusiasm for caution. "That was before I truly understood what was happening right under my very nose." She glances at me through dark, long lashes. "What if I was to tell you that I am suspect about Astoria, and do not wish for her to remain married to my son?"_

_My surprise must be evident on my face. "You suspect her how and why exactly? And who else would you want your son married to if not a princess from a pure-blood house?"_

_Narcissa looks me dead in the eye. "As to the first, I will not say. It is only a suspicion at this point, and requires more observation. As to the second... you."_

_I scoff and forget my manners entirely. "Be serious."_

_"Oh, but I am, Miss Granger. Very much so," Lady Malfoy assures me. "Which is why I wished to know if the rumours I've heard of you and Draco having an affair were true_ – _and why I suspect you went to St. Mungo's today for more than just a yearly female exam. If you and my son are involved... I want you to know that I approve of the match as not only his mother, but as the eldest surviving member of the Malfoy family."_

_Now I'm suspicious. "Why?"_

_There is cunning in Narcissa's gaze, and I wonder now how our chess board is set-up. Is she a Black Queen, or is she a Bishop? Is she my Bishop, or Astoria's? There are too many unknowns and I'm not sure what to trust in the moment._

_I turn on my listening and observation skills, and tune out the rest._

_"I want my son to have the very best, Miss Granger," Draco's mother explains. "I am told you are that woman. The Malfoys need new blood to survive this war, and as you well know from having taken care of me during the weeks I was unconscious here, I am no longer able to bear children." She runs a hand across her lower abdomen, where I knew a five-inch scar ran. "As for my son's current wife, I do not believe_ – _" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "_ – _that Astoria can bring that to our table any longer." She reaches out and gently lays a hand on my gloved one. "You alone have the ability to counter my son's curse, to keep him alive long enough to hold a Malfoy heir in his arms. And... there is the matter of our debt to you, for your kindness and caring when Draco, Rabastan, and I were helpless and in need. It is for all of those reasons that I come to you today to discuss this matter."_

_Slowly, I extricate my hand from Narcissa's touch, as bitterness fills my chest. "I'm sorry to say I'm not the woman you need for your plans, either. I..." Tears fill my eyes, and I struggle not to let them fall. "I'm unable to bear children as well, thanks to Bellatrix's curse."_

_Narcissa sits back into the sofa, looking stunned and saddened._

_"Your trip to St. Mungo's today_ – _"_

 _I feel the hot drip down my cheeks as I confirm her unspoken suspicion with a nod. "The curse killed the child Draco and I accidentally conceived." A small sob escapes my lips, but I fight to hold back another. "I... It's not going to happen for me_ – _ever."_

_I shut my eyes, praying for Narcissa to leave quickly, before I humiliate myself in a storm of emotion._

_The sofa shifts, and I think I'm going to get my wish. To my surprise, I feel Lady Malfoy's hand once more covering mine in my lap. When I glance down, she gives my fingers a squeeze to show support._

_I look up. To my great astonishment, there are tears in her eyes._

_"I know what it is to be told you can no longer bear fruit," she sympathises in as polite and delicate a way as possible. "I would ask of you not to give up hope, however. I am useless to the Order right now as I am–without a wand of my own and still too fragile of health to be sent into the field–so I will ask Minerva for permission to research for a possible cure for both you and my son. Where we are staying there are books beyond imagining, many that even our private library at the Manor did not hold. I'm sure we can find some way to reverse your situations."_

_I thank her for her kindness, and feel a sliver of hope rise up within me once more. Perhaps there is a way to find out the spell Bellatrix cast upon me and Draco, and to reverse engineer it._

_Lady Malfoy leaves me with a final request: "I know you owe us nothing, Miss Granger, but I am asking you as a mother for her son_ – _please keep helping Draco, and do not allow things with Astoria to disturb that endeavour."_

_She leaves that late afternoon with Minerva by Side-Along Apparition, and Moody follows, heading out to a different destination, leaving me, Rabastan, and Draco alone in the house once more... and me with a mind full of baffling information to process._


	8. Chapter 8

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – April, 2000 (1)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

Annnnnnnd Astoria's back.

Joy.

As I'm hand-wiping the long table, she comes down the stairs behind me,  _sans_  her husband.

"Oh, Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise."

Black Queen sits the board, waiting for White Queen to make her first move.

"Right," I say, disbelieving. I'm betting she's asked Draco or Ral where I might be in the house, and took a little detour just to let me know she was here.

White Queen acknowledges Black... with disdain.

Honestly, I'm feeling a bit snippy at the moment, as my period is due any day now. Which mean I'm itching for a cat fight. The boys know me well enough by now to walk softly and get out of my way during this time of the month, so I haven't had anyone to snap at for at least a day.

Maybe it's a good thing Draco's wife's has come to Grimmauld after all.

The clip of her heels across the stone floor gives me an idea as to how close she may be. As she approaches, I move off down the narrow aisle between table and curio cabinets, heading for the stove to give it a good shine. I do it on purpose, wanting her feet to hurt in those ridiculous shoes of hers.

I begin with the classic Queen's Pawn Game (the QPG) – a small move of an expendable piece to open the board up. Seemingly innocuous, the QPG is filled with potential moves for offensive positioning by White. Today, I'm playing more forcefully. I know my enemy pretty well now, having dissected in my mind our last encounter – enough to keep one step ahead of her, anyway. By forcing her to scurry after me to get in a jibe, I establish the power as being in my court; she comes to me, not the other way around.

"How have you been?" she asks, undaunted by my quick pace and keeping up. "Any ill effects from your curse yet?"

I pause in wiping the stove top with my rag, thrown off a bit by her knowledge. I recover quickly though, recognising her manoeuvering for what it is: a Dutch Defence. It was smart of her to push an inoffensive pawn out onto the board to allow bigger pieces to move out sooner. It guarantees she's going to hit me with something nasty after my reply.

"What curse?" I feign ignorance, using the common counter of the Blackmar-Diemer Gambit – pushing another seemingly innocent pawn onto the field to move it out of the way... and directly into harm's path, all so I can also bring in the big guns next round. It's a move meant to trick a lesser-experienced player into believing they're up against someone not quite as smart, and it lulls them into a state of overconfidence, which can be exploited later.

Astoria steps closer to me, and I'm careful to note her wand is nowhere in sight... but a nasty looking fish knife  _is_  near my hand in case of need. "I've heard what Bellatrix Lestrange did to you," she says, tossing me a vicious smirk. "I even know why she neutered you. It's common knowledge in certain circles."

She's moved exactly as I expected, destroying my sacrificial Pawn and opening herself up, laying her cards a table, as they say. Her impatience is another weakness.

I reconsider what she's just said. Neutered. What an interesting and deliberate choice of words, meant to make me feel less of a human being. I refuse to be intimidated, though, by a barely-legal child playing at adult.

Time to lay the Halosar Trap. It's a manoeuvre that keeps Black on its fumbling toes, trying to make a real solid attack, but failing each time.

"You mean those contemptible roaches that support an insane, half-breed Dark Lord –  _that_ sort of circle?" I ask, trying for casual.

Astoria's eyes harden at my hidden insult. Her family still openly supports Voldemort, and everyone knows it.

"I wonder," she says, playing into the Halosar perfectly, "do you happen to know why Bellatrix punished  _my_  Draco, though?"

My Draco. She's staking her claim... which means she knows for certain that Draco and I have been having sex behind her back. Finally, she's revealed her true motive for her relentless jabs of me: jealousy. I can now use that knowledge against her at my whim. Like now.

"Sorry, no. Draco and I tend to reserve pillow talk for dreams about the future together, not to discuss trivialities of the past."

Her face blooms red with rage and her tiny hands fist at her sides."You slaggy bitch! He knew it was you that day you were brought to his Manor house and tortured. He knew and still he lied to protect you and Potter! Bella was smart though. She found out just before her death that her own family had betrayed her for a stupid, ugly cow of a Mudblood! He's paying for it now, though – for helping you!"

A cold chill creeps up my spine at the way she speaks of Bellatrix Lestrange like the woman was some kind of goddess on high. There's a mad glint in her eye that looks familiar, too...

_"I didn't know Horcruxes could be inside living creatures. I always assumed they were only found in inanimate objects."_

A terrible suspicion is coming over me, and I think, perhaps, I've made a huge tactical blunder. There's clearly more going on inside Astoria's head than I'd assumed.

She steps close enough for me to now see her wand at her side. I assume she drew it from a side or sleeve holster when I was busy looking into her sweaty, insane features. Her hand grips the wood so tightly it shakes. "I didn't expect your curses to work so perfectly in counter to each other. I didn't foresee it, then," she seethes. "But I've perfected it since. Two curses make a charm, he always said." She smiles like some insane clown, her grin splitting her face in two. Spittle runs down her chin. "Draco only fucks you like the whore you are because he has no choice!"

I drop the rag and pull the glove from one of my hands slowly, preparing to knock her down and touch her skin, to drain her of every drop of her magic and her memories, if necessary. This curse is my only defence against her rage.

"Bellatrix was mad and evil to her core," I say, distracting her from seeing what I'm about by holding her attention. "She got what she deserved."

The move, when it comes, is fast but expected. Astoria's arrogance that she can overpower me is her downfall, just as I'd predicted from the start of today's game.

I move as her arm is still levelling itself in my direction, turning to the side to avoid the Killing Curse she hurls at me. At the same time, I grip her wrist holding the wand with my one gloved hand, and fist her hair with the other. My skin touches her skull, and her magic becomes mine.

Unlike her husband, Astoria doesn't generate excess energy reserves, and so my curse goes right to work devouring the magic of her soul and gobbling up her memories. What I see has me screaming in horror.

We're locked in the same position when Rabastan and Draco rush down the stairs to separate us. Draco attends to his shell-shocked wife, while I twitch and cry in Ral's arms.

Her thoughts, her memories... oh, God!

"B-b-bellatrix," I stammer, her dark magic burning in my veins. "S-s-s-she's... Bellat-trix."

"What?" Ral asks, shocked by my words.

I lift a trembling hand and point it at Astoria the best I can manage. "T-take h-her w-w-wand!"

Astoria's recovering from the attack quickly, the oozing dark magic in her veins reanimating her enough for her to wrench herself from Draco's hold, and to shove past him, running up the stairs towards the way out of the house.

"S-stop h-her!" I shout, but Draco's already on his feet and chasing his wife.

There's rustling upstairs in the hallway, and I hear Bellatrix's cackling laughter, followed by the front door slamming shut. I'm trembling in Ral's hold when Draco comes back down the stairs.

"She got away. What the hell happened?"

I'm unable to answer, but I can point to the Floo. It's clear what I want.

"Yes, the others should be notified immediately," Ral says. "Draco, come see to your... see to Hermione."

The two men trade off, and Ral makes a Floo-call to Moody, while I lie in Draco's arms and shiver. He rocks me back and forth and soothes me with light touches and small kisses. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nod, feeling my trembling decreasing by the second. Already, my body is adjusting to the dark magic I'd absorbed. It's the memories I can do without. "She's Bellatrix's Horcrux, made last year, before her death. No wonder our curses went off at different times, despite the fact the caster was dead – because Astoria could activate them at her whim."

"Bitch," Draco growled. "My mother and I have been talking for a while now, and we've both had our suspicions that something just wasn't right with Astoria."

_"What if I was to tell you that I am suspect about Astoria, and do not wish for her to remain married to my son?"_

Narcissa somehow instinctively knew that her sister, Bella, was lurking behind the eyes of the woman who'd married her son. She'd had no way to prove it, though.

"Sometime in the weeks before the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd... changed," Draco explained. "She'd become more unhinged, cruel. We thought it was just because her father had thrown in his lot with Voldemort and she'd been forced to do and see things she never should have. Shit, it explains so much. It also explains why Snape 'apprenticed' her – he was keeping an eye on Astoria for my mother, I'll bet."

It definitely explains Astoria's very dark aura, and why it's been reading as if she'd committed mass murder – because she and Bellatrix were merging, becoming one entity. Eventually, the horcrux piece of Bella would take over Astoria's body, just like what had happened with Quirinus Quirrell when Voldemort had taken him.

"Technically, this means you slept with your aunt, you know," I say, glancing up at Draco. "Well, a piece of her, anyway."

My lover turns a little green around the edges and looks decidedly ill. "God, don't remind me."

"Right," I agree.

He doesn't mention the pregnancy I lost, I don't mention this. It's a fair Stalemate.

I think back to the day when I walked in on Severus and Moody arguing in the Headmaster's tower, right after the fighting was over. The woman at Snape's side was cowled but now I see that it was Astoria. In retrospect, that particular shade of blonde hair of hers was unmistakable. As she'd left the room, she'd bumped into me, running her hand past mine. She must have activated Bellatrix's curse then, and I didn't know.

That bitch has robbed both me and Draco of our lives. Her curse is the reason Luna will never cast magic again.

I vow then and there: if I ever see Astoria Malfoy across a battlefield, I'll reconsider my aversion to casting  _Avada Kedavra_.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 1999 (3)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_"Were you ever going to tell me?" Draco asks, moving the Pawn in front of his White King forward one space._

_I consider my first move, looking down at the chess board. I'm Black this time. "Tell you what?" I move the Pawn in front of my King-side Bishop forward two spaces._

_Draco moves his Queen out two spaces diagonally. "Why you really went to St. Mungo's."_

_"Female stuff. Really none of your business," I say as I move my King-side Knight out to just behind the Pawn I placed._

_He moves a Queen up to take my open Pawn. "I think it is my business. Intimately so."_

_Ron is right - I'm terrible at this game. Maybe I ought to read up on those books he brought me from his personal collection, the ones on strategy, reading your opponent and their moves. I think I could really benefit from that now, especially as I retreat my Knight back to the space it came from. Don't want to lose such a big piece._

_"Well, it's not. More play, less talk, please."_

_Draco moves his King-side Bishop out diagonally three spaces."You were a virgin, not on birth control. I've come in you every time."_

_I feel my cheeks blush, but shrug, trying to play it cool. I see a chance to take his Queen, too. I know she's the most important piece on the board. I move the Pawn in front of my Knight up one space, threatening her. "So?"_

_He glances up at me. "You've been throwing up in the mornings. It's hard not to hear with the walls so thin around here." He puts his finger on the top of his Queen's crown. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure out you're pregnant?" He slides his Queen forward two spaces, trapping my King perfectly. "Checkmate in five moves."_

_I stare at him, unsure of what to say._

_He glances back at me, and I can't tell if he's more angry or disappointed._

_"But... I'm not," I whisper at long last. "I lost the baby."_

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – April, 2000 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

The intel Ral, Malfoy, and I gathered from our recon in February is combined with reports from other teams sent on the same mission at different times. I pour over the facts, but can find no logical pattern or reasoning behind our observations...

One: Death Eaters and Snatchers have been seen randomly herding their pure-blood witches–their wives, daughters, and nieces–into various buildings that we know they occupy around the country.

Two: These pure-blood women are supposedly being tortured – at least, from the sounds that have been reported being heard coming from within them. Even I heard the screaming and moaning the one time I went out with Ral and Malfoy.

Three: Young or lesser members of Voldemort's army are seen also being herded into these same buildings, but not seen coming out.

Four: Days later, the pure-blood witches are escorted back to their homes, and they pretend none the wiser. They do not appear abused, either.

Five: These buildings that are used always combust into flame once the last pure-blood witch has been removed. The accelerant is magical in nature, burns ultra hot, and leaves nothing but ash behind in seconds. There is no evidence as to what was done inside the building, as no magical or physical traces remain.

If only we could get closer, but they have powerful wards around the property that only they can cross, and the windows are always darkened.

The only conclusions I can imagine are either punishment or–and this next supposition  _really_  has me worried–the Death Eaters are experimenting on their women and their younger, less important members. And yet, neither answer makes sense. Why harm their own precious pure-blood females, especially as their birth rates are already atrociously low as a result of all that in-breeding, at least according to Narcissa? And why harm their own soldiers, when they so desperately need every hand on deck, especially as they could just as easily capture half-blood or Muggle-born witches, or even Squibs and Muggles and use them instead as guinea pigs.

It's an enigma I can't solve yet because I don't have enough of the puzzle pieces in place to discern the picture.

What I do have is a bad period with cramps from hell, and it's making me foul-tempered. I just want to curl up in bed, wearing my sloppies, with a pint of chocolate ice-cream watching classical romances, like  _An Affair to Remember_  or _Casablanca_  on my parent's old Muggle telly. To make things even more miffing, I'm also a bit horny, which doesn't at all match the pain thing. It's like mixing a Limburger cheese toastie with vodka.

Basically, my situation is irritating, humiliating, and sordid all smushed into one big sushi roll. I'm feeling rather petulant as a result.

What's worse is I'm alone in the house tonight. Moody and Lupin have taken Draco and Ral off on some random adventure, while I'm stuck at home pouring over paperwork. I'm being unintentionally ostracised by the others because they fear my condition. As if curses might be catchy, jumping from one person to–

Curses jumping.

Curses.

Pure-blood curses.

What ailments curse pure-bloods?

" _Pure-blood women have extreme difficulty conceiving and carrying babies to term. Why do you think Lucius and I were only ever able to have a single son?"_

They have very low birth rates.

So, how would you counter that kind of tragedy–that curse–without 'tainting' the purity of your line?

Counter curses.

Curses countering each other, like mine and Draco's.

_Two curses can make a charm._

Oh. My. God.

Could it be as simple as that? Could someone really have figured out how to use two curses similar to Draco's and mine to make a charm that allows pure-blood witches to steal life energy from their male counterparts all so they can assure a pregnancy sticks?

Ral said it was possible for charms to have originated out of two curses, like the Weight Loss Charm, for instance. Could the pure-bloods have figured out a way to beat their low birth rates by insuring conception through the invention of some super-charged, magically-enhanced Conception Potion or Conception Spell?

But why would you drain a person of their magic just to have a baby now if it meant you'd be sacrificing them as a soldier on the battlefield, especially when your side was...

_"If the war ends in our favour, as it looks like it might soon..._

The Death Eaters were defeated at the Battle of Hogwarts and those that could escape, did. We've been picking them off one at a time ever since. The Order then defeated the Russian and Balkan dark wizards and witches, keeping them from joining the cause. That meant no fresh reinforcements were coming from outside sources to help replenish the Dark Army's numbers.

Voldemort's losing the war.

He's smart enough to see it, too.

Even with his astounding ego, Tom Riddle would have planned for such a possibility – he's too much a Slytherin not to. If there's one thing I've learned from living with snakes, it's that they tend to make plans within plans. Just look at Bellatrix...

Bellatrix.

Snakes.

Plans within plans.

_"Harry's close to finding Raveclaw's Horcrux, and he thinks Nagini might be the sixth one."_

Draco's aunt made a Horcrux out of Astoria Greengrass. Voldemort's done the same – six times, if Ginny's right, maybe more if we missed something.

Horcruxes require murder to take.

Young and unimportant members of the Dark Army go into the houses, but they don't come out. The buildings burn down afterwards, ensuring the Order cannot detect the magic that was used within its walls, as fire is one thing that scatters tell-tale dark energy signatures to the four winds.

Jesu Christo, those poor, brainwashed dupes are being murdered by their own side to create Horcruxes for the higher members of Voldemort's Elite Circle! Where are those pieces of souls going, though?

Voldemort's breeding children.

Holy. God. On. High.

The picture clicks into place in my brain, and I'm floored by the scenario I've just constructed in my head.

Could it be true? Is Tom sacrificing his inconsequential Pawns to move others–the pregnant pure-blood witches–closer to the other side of the board, so that once they hit it, they'll promote – i.e. transform, giving birth to new Rooks, Knights, Bishops, and even Queens who carry a piece of the souls of his former soldiers within them? Is he really creating a new future army made up of the most loyal and powerful of his current army to launch at some undesignated time years hence to continue his quest to take over the wizarding world, because he knows he's going to lose this conflict in the here and now?

It's a huge (gigantic, almost improbable) leap in logic... but that's what I'm best known for, and my accuracy at logical prediction is usually better than fifty percent on any given day.

Merlin Almighty, an entire sleeper cell of dark wizards and witches would grow up right under the Ministry's noses, fully ready to resume this battle at a future time, when the Order wouldn't be as strong necessarily, or when the Aurors and the rebuilt Ministry were more complacent and less vigilant.

Checkmate. Voldemort's side ultimately wins.

I rush off to the Floo to call Lupin and let him in on my suspicion, realising that Astoria must be the one who's been teaching the pure-blood witches how to cast a curse like mine so they can suck their lovers dry. She must also be the one teaching the soldiers how to create Horcruxes.

What. A. Bitch.

Seriously.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are two extra scenes I took out of the original fest version (rev. 1.0) of this story, because I thought they slowed down the pace. I've put them back in here for you for this, revision 2.0. Let me know what you think of them!
> 
> WARNING: There is implied underage sex (ages 14 & 17) in this chapter via a forced arrange marriage, but it is not shown on-screen. There is also references to a breeding program, just as in the last chapter.

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 1999 (4)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_Draco's curse is beginning to rear its ugly head again, but he doesn't approach me right away. I am painfully aware as to why._

_I've been taking the Pregnancy Prevention potions, as proscribed, so we both know I'm protected this time. Still, he waits until the last possible second to come to me._ _The knock on my bedroom door is weak, but grows more demanding as I sit and stare at it, frightened by what we're going to do. Something about being pregnant once and miscarrying has changed me and how I view what Draco and I do together to alleviate our curses._

_We don't even like each other very much. Why are we doing this?_

_I get up on unsteady legs and open the door._

_Draco is standing there, shaking and with glowing red eyes. Clearly, he's suffering, but he's waited to inflict his pain upon me, holding out until the last moment._

_Our near miss has changed him, too._

_I hold out my hand, and silently he takes it. We do what must be done, and we both enjoy it. Afterwards is still just as awkward, though – maybe more so now, because now we're aware of each other in a way we haven't been before. This isn't just about sex. It's about survival, and like it or not, I think we're both beginning to see that we're going to need each other for that for the foreseeable future._

_He is, of course, much more stubborn than I am about it. I suppose being married and forced to have sex at least once a month for the rest of your life with some other witch—a Muggle-born you grew up hating, at that—could cock up your plans. Especially if you still hold onto some prejudices about blood purity and some traditions about monogamy in a relationship._

_It's going to take time, and we're going to have to manoeuvre around each other like chess pieces on a board until we get our game straight._

_"Thanks, Granger."_

_"Any time," I sigh as the door shuts behind him._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – **April, 2000 (3)****

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

Draco moves gently, tenderly over me, giving, not taking this time. There's no urgency to his touch, no desperate requirement to expel or to claim, either. Conquest is not his goal as his mouth and fingers roam – exploring, learning, discovering. This isn't about needing. It's about wanting.

We're making love for the first time.

I invite him in, all the way, and he accepts the invitation, coming into me and completing me. He sinks deep on that first thrust, and I tilt my head back and moan, the pleasure both breathtaking and terrifying, like flying. He stills, reveling in the sensation of being inside me, of our connection.

Our hands are clasped and slicked with sweat, but neither of us lets go as we begin to dance, chasing the high together, reaching for the same dream.

"I like this better," I whisper, planting my heels into the mattress and spreading my knees wider.

He kisses me with sweetness and passion, and although he doesn't say it, I feel his answer in the press of his soft lips and in the warmth of his panting breath:

_Me, too._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – July, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_I brave the subject of Rabastan's life during the first war, asking him what memory most affects him when he thinks about that time. What he reveals is more shocking to me than any tale of Unforgivable use._

_"The Dark Lord forced me to marry when I was seventeen, the same night he gave me the Dark Mark."_

_My hand slips while chopping the celery, and I yelp as the knife slices into my finger. Immediately, I drop the sharp instrument and stick my finger under the nearby tap, running cold water over it. Thank goodness my parents insisted on getting me a tetanus shot after I told them about Umbridge's blood pen and how it had carved into Harry's hand a permanent scar a few years ago._

_Rabastan drops his stirring spoon and comes over to assure I'm okay._

_"It's just a small cut," I tell him when he crowds me at the sink, concerned. "Hardly a nick." I wrap it in a clean tea towel and raise it above the level of my heart to slow the blood flow. "A minute or two and it'll be fine."_

_He is careful not to touch my bare skin, but we are standing so close to one another we may as well be wearing the other's shirt. He's aware of that fact, too, but stubbornly doesn't step away. My cheeks are hot and my insides flutter as his gaze drops to my lips._

_"I'm definitely going to kiss you this time," he warns._

_"But my curse–"_

_Too late. His arms are around me and his mouth is on mine, and his kiss is possessive and ravenous. His large frame shudders as I automatically melt into him, the spell upon me turning me wanton and willing in a snap._ _I feel the seductive heat curl through me, and my curse greedily reaches for Rabastan's life force _—__

_I accidentally pull a memory from him:_

Edyth's hand is sweaty and trembling in his as they are escorted to what is, presumably, to be their marriage bed for the night. They've just been wed in the ancient ways by Thaddeus Nott, who has given Rabastan his daughter as part of his indoctrination into the Death Eaters.

Rabastan's not sure he feels well enough to do what they obviously expect of him next. His left forearm stings like an acid burn, and the sinister black tattoo carved into his pale flesh throbs, like something is living under it and it has its own heartbeat. Worse, his head feels filled with cotton and he's a tad woozy. He hasn't been able to really process what's happened to him today, how he's been commissioned into the Dark Lord's army to fight in a war he's not even sure he believes in, and all at the instigation and bullying of his father and brother... and now he's about to lose his virginity to a girl he doesn't even know.

A day past his seventeenth birthday, and he's been made a soldier and someone's husband all in the span of a few hours.

His new wife's mother disrobes her daughter and lays her barely-fourteen-year-old out on the bed like some sort of ritual sacrifice. The girl's legs are spread wide to show off her curl-shrouded virgin core, her dark hair is artfully laid across the pillow in an attempt to add seductive allure to the scene, but her skin is so pale and bloodless one would think her a wraith, rather than a living, breathing witch.

His witch now.

He doesn't want to be here! He doesn't want to do this!

Rabastan's father is behind him, watching and sentinel-silent, waiting for any sign of his son's hesitation or attempt to run. The man's wand is out  _–_  an implied threat if Rabastan doesn't follow through with the plan. He has little choice in the matter, it seems, especially when their house-elf begins disrobing him.

When he's naked, the father guides his son to the bed and shoves him towards his duty. Everyone who attended his marriage ceremony now stays to witness this important event as well, perverted voyeurs that they are, and there are more than a few anticipatory leers on the faces surrounding the bed.

He wishes he were anywhere but here, right now, as he climbs onto the mattress, mouthing, "I'm sorry," to his terrified, young bride...

_I pull away, jerking and jumping back several feet to put space between us, unnerved by what I've just witnessed._

_Rabastan drops his face into his hands and moans with shame._

_"I'm s-s-orry," I stammer, shaken by what I've seen. Anxiously, I fix my impromptu bandage around my finger as I hurry to the opposite side of the dining table from him in the tight kitchen area. I'm still bleeding. "Merlin, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I swear, I didn't–"_

_He puts a hand up to stop me, but takes a few minutes to pull himself together. "It wasn't your fault, love. _I don't blame you,_ " he says when he is in control once more. He turns away, refusing to meet my eye, however, and the guilt radiates off of him in dirty, black waves that I can see, thanks to Luna's gift. "If anything, I should be the one to apologise," he insists. "I forced that memory on you as assuredly as I forced that kiss."_

_That isn't wholly true, and he knows it. "You didn't–"_

_He interrupts me again. "I wanted you to see that. I purposefully chose that memory the minute our lips met."_

_I am taken aback by his raw honesty. "But... why?"_

_He fiddles with a wet rag slung carelessly on the counter from our earlier washing and drying of the luncheon dishes. "Because I needed you to see me for who I really was, and to understand why I'm here now." _He glances over at me and his gaze is hooded, his expression tight. "__ _She didn't voluntarily consent, Hermione, and even if she had, Edyth was too young to know what she was signing up for, whereas I was legally an adult."_

_I get what he's implying – and I don't at all agree with his assessment of himself or the situation._ _"First of all, one day past seventeen does not an adult make, Rabastan. A person doesn't suddenly _become_ enlightened and mature simply by celebrating a birthday," I argue. "The fact is, both you and you wife were children, and it was the responsibility of your parents to cherish and protect the both of you. They failed to do so, caring more for their own dark and twisted agendas than for your safety and long-term happiness. You and your wife were nothing but tools for their use – lambs fattened for slaughter.  _So, stop blaming yourself for the failure of the adults to do the right thing by either of you._ Secondly, it looked to me as if neither of you had much choice in the matter, regardless of all other factors. I saw the wands out, the silent threats the audience posed. Any one of them might have killed you–"_

_"She cried the whole time, Hermione. She was so small, and I... I hurt her." He sounds truly remorseful. "I didn't love her, didn't really even know her, but she was my wife. Mine to protect, and instead... I got her pregnant that same night. She was too fragile and young, though, and died in the birthing nine months later. I wasn't even there, out on some stupid, sodding errand for the Dark Lord."_

_There are standing tears in his eyes now and he wipes at them, slightly embarrassed by the show of emotion._

_"Somewhere out there, if he's survived, I have a son I've never met. Edyth's father,Thaddeus Nott, hid him from me to raise before I could get back. Three months later, I was arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban, along with Bella and my brother, and there was no time to find him."_ _He runs a shaky hand through his hair, and wipes sweat from his brow. "That's really why I'm here _–_  to avenge her and to find him. I'd planned to defect the same day Narcissa was injured. That's what caused the argument between her and Lucius  _ _–__  she, Draco, and I were asking him to come with us. Crabbe came in, heard the raised voices... You know the rest."_

_I nod, but my head is elsewhere, thinking, thinking, turning things over._

_He mentioned that Thaddeus Nott was Edyth's father._

_The only Nott I know is Theodore Nott... who has an old father._

_Could Rabastan be Theodore's true father instead? If so, the young man is one of Draco's friends. Or had been, rather. I'm not really sure they're still mates, given Draco's defection and Theo's skipping seventh year to bugger off to the continent with Tracey Davis._ _As I recall now, though, from the times I'd seen him and his father at Kings Cross, Theo's supposed sire had seemed an ancient and sour man – more grandfather material._ _And when I consider my old classmate carefully in my mind's eye, I can definitely see a strong resemblance to Rabastan (although the fellow's rabbitty features more closely resemble young Edyth's from the memory)._

_Could it be?_

_"I think... I'm not one-hundred percent sure, but I think I may know him," I say, cautious, not wanting to get Rabastan's hopes up too high. If there's a chance I'm right, however, perhaps when the war is over, the two can meet? "Theodore Nott was a classmate of mine. He'd be the right age, and he even looks like you: tall and thin, blond hair, blue eyes. Studious and quiet, wears glasses, just like you do now. Sorted Slytherin, too."_

_Rabastan's aura flares like the sun at that and his eyes widen. For the first time since he's come to this house, I see something of hope in his face. "You... think so?"_

_"Possibly. I'd heard he'd left England a few years ago, at the beginning of the fighting. I'll ask Ginny what she knows. She's the eyes and ears of the Order, really _ _– always up on the gossip, sitting on the sides, listening and watching." I smile, thinking about my best girl friend. She's one of my favourite people in the whole world, and I don't think she's appreciated half as much as she deserves, honestly. "No one really considers her like that, you know. Most people think she's all action and loud, like most Weasleys, but really, she's best at sneaking and eavesdropping. Comes from being the only girl in a house full of prankster brothers.__ "_

_He chuckles. "She's your Rook, observing from the advantage of the sides, from her tower view."_

_"That's more me, I think." Because that's really what I've been relegated to - a side piece._

_Rabastan disagrees. "You're the White Queen. You manoeuver the rest of us where we need to be, keep us on track. You bring us joy."_

_"Isn't that the part of the King's Fool?" I joke._

_He crosses over to me, and my heart beats faster with every one of his steps. When he is close enough, he reaches out and takes my bloodied hand in his. " _You're the heart of us, Hermione. You don't see it, but I do. Everyone comes here to be with you, even for just a little while. We all need you. The Order needs you._ You ground us and remind us why we're playing this deadly game at all."_

_"A-and what's your role?"_

_He bends and kisses the back of my hand in a smooth, chivalrous move. "I am, of course, your very own, made-to-order White Knight."_

_We share a chuckle at that silly (but maybe not quite so outrageous) boast, and suddenly the awkwardness melts and everything is okay between us once more. The kiss is left to memory, and the memory is relegated to the grey fog of the mind. Our conversation turns to Theodore and what I recall about him as we take back our previous posts at the stove and the chopping block, continuing to fix the dinner. The time flies as I answer his dozens of hungry questions._

_Somewhere over the course of that discussion, our friendship blooms into something closer to how I feel for Harry and Ron. I'm able to share with Rabastan details about the boy who very well might be his son, while at the same time make_ _it clear in what isn't said between us that_ _those 'sins' in his past—the ones that he clearly hates himself for having committed—don't scare me off. My only hope is, once the war is done and we win, I can introduce him to Theodore._

_And we will win. I have no doubt about that. It's only a matter of deciphering our enemy's movements, and establishing patterns for cutting them off at every turn – just like playing a good game of chess._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an entire new chapter that was not part of the original fest submission. 
> 
> Also, please keep in mind that this is a remix of the 'Gambit/Rogue' romance (as stated in Chapter 1's notes), and in that comic, Gambit spends a lot of time chasing after Rogue, flirting with her, growling at her - anything to get her attention on him. When they get too close, though, sometimes he backs off and reminds her of his bad history & why he's no good for her. He really suffers from a low self-esteem (he doesn't like himself very much), but he hides that fact behind the consummate flirt and playboy. When he gets jealous, though, he REALLY gets jealous (especially when Joseph shows up in the story, able to touch Rogue without her powers activating... Gambit becomes Mr. Stalker-Growly boy then). Deep down, Gambit loves Rogue more than air, but he has a hard time letting himself be vulnerable to her or anyone else. I tried to incorporate all those complicated aspects of Gambit's personality into this story in Draco. I hope it comes through for you as intended.

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place –** **May, 2000 (1)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

The minute Ral appears in the kitchen, I pounce.

"Did you send it?"

He nods and lets out a deep, nervous breath. He's written a letter to Theodore Nott, asking for them to meet. The final battle is coming very soon, we can all sense it, and my housemate is worried about missing his chance to meet his flesh-and-blood son. Moody has given advance permission for the get-together, so long as Ral takes Lupin with him as back-up, and so all that remains now is Theodore's willingness to accept.

"I can't believe young Malfoy was able to find him so easily," Ral says once more, repeating the same sentiment over the last three days, since Draco informed us of his best friend's whereabouts.

I'm not surprised by Draco's resourcefulness. It seems my cunning lover had devised contingency plans with his Slytherin brothers, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, during the summer between sixth and seventh years: the three had agreed to meet at one of Zabini's family villas in Italy if ever there was the need to run and hide-out. This is pillow-talk I've learned from Draco, of course, but I don't let Ral know that. It would be tactless and hurtful to him.

"I just hope Pigwidgeon can make it that far," I say instead, genuinely worried that Ron's loaner owl might get lost on the way to Italy, as he's never before made a trip off the island.

Ral shrugs one shoulder, unconcerned. "He's got his brother's owl, Hermes, to go with–and that one seemed quite the intelligent fellow to me. I don't think it will be a problem."

Yes, Percy's owl is quite competent... but using two key message carriers for one letter worries me as well. I'm sure Moody wouldn't have sanctioned it if he didn't feel it an acceptable loss to remove two pawns from the board at this juncture, however.

"Do you think he'll believe it?" Ral asks, quiet and suddenly unsure. His forehead wrinkles with concern.

"That you're his father? I'm not sure." I toss an apple at him and he catches it one-handed in a smooth grab. It's easy to forget that Rabastan had been Seeker for his House Quidditch team back during his school days, as he doesn't seem very athletic. Then again, years in Azkaban would have thinned anyone out, I suppose. "It's worth a try to convince him, though, don't you think?"

He presses his lips together, forming a tight line of them, and gives a single, hard nod. He is resigned to his plan of officially naming Theodore his heir now. As Ral has no one else to will his property to, giving it to Edyth's closest, still-living relative (whatever the true connection Theodore maintains with her) is the most he can hope to give in reparation for the wrong he did is wife so long ago.

I reach out and place a gloved hand in his, giving him a small, supportive squeeze. "You're a good man, Rabastan Lestrange."

He shuts his eyes and smiles. His throat convulses and a tear travels down his face.

"Thank you, love."

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – October, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_Samhain has arrived. You can feel it in the air, a magic all its own. For wizards and witches, it is a day when most of our magic doesn't require a wand to cast (the Unforgivables are the exceptions, for reasons unknown). For most everything else, we think what we want, and it happens._

_Most accidental magic occurs on Halloween night, too. The young, the untrained, or the elderly suffering from control issues as their mental faculties slip with age are typically the culprits. Muggles tend to overlook those moments, though, thinking them part of the elaborate ruse of the night's merry-making. If a bulb blows out or a door slams shut, it's a ghost attempting to make contact. If a mirror or window shatters, it's brounie mischief. If something levitates, it's a vengeful spirit come back to haunt you. If you spy a large dog out of the corner of your eye, it's not an Animagi stuck in its animal form, but Black Shuck._ _As expected, the western wizarding world has cleverly encouraged such beliefs to hide its mistakes, many half-bloods even going so far as to own Party Superstores that peddle wholesale and retail Halloween goods and services._

_It's the biggest hoax mankind has ever known._

_For me, all of it together is just a reminder of what I've lost, for even accidental magic is beyond me without stealing a bit of that precious energy from someone else. I'm inert, as powerful as the Muggle children passing by outside, dressed in their silly costumes._

_As I look out the front window at Grimmauld and watch the families trick-or-treating outside, I realise that most are completely unaware that Number Twelve is nestled magically between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen. Occasionally, a child will glance up at me, and I know they can sense the magic hidden from them, even if they can't see behind the wards that protect this house; they are the next generation of Muggle-borns. Most, however, simply walk by, completely ignorant. It saddens me that they'll never know the wonder I do, never realise that there exists a second and distinct universe that surrounds their own, which contains all the fanciful dreams of their childhood made manifest. They'll never be permitted to know that such amazing delights and terrifying demons exist unless they marry into it or show a hint of its talent. They remain ignorant of the world within the world._

_Maybe it's a good thing, I think, looking down as the last of Draco's stolen magic drains away from my fingertips, the crackle of blue fire dying until it is no more than a spark, and then... nothing. Maybe it's better those children outside never know what hunts them, what can be used to hurt them, and how it feels to be cut off from that beauty. Maybe the disguise of Halloween is better than the real thing._

_Wrapping my arms around my middle, I let the tears come. I sob for what I've lost, and most likely will never get back except through theft._

_...And through sex with a man who doesn't care for me as I've come to care for him._

_God, how could I have been so stupid as to let this happen? I'm smarter than this! I know better! Draco Malfoy is not a White King. He's a Black Pawn, promoted. He'll burn me up and leave me broken in the end. I am his means to Checkmating Voldemort, the Black King, and that's all. My head knows it. It shouts it loudly at me... even as my heart and body aches for him._

_When I head to my room an hour later to wait for Malfoy to come find me so our curses can cancel each other out, I've wiped my tears and come to accept that I'm as big a fool as the Muggles outside Number Twelve's front steps, dabbling in the belief of something impossible._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place –** **May, 2000 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

It's taken two weeks, but the return letter from Theodore Nott is promising: he wants to meet with Rabastan in person.

As planned, Remus accompanies my friend as the day and time approaches. Ral gives me a small, anxious wave as he heads out the door. I wish him luck, and then they are gone.

I sit at the piano after that, tapping out the tune to Disney's _'_ _Once Upon A Dream'_ , worried about my friend's safety. It is dangerous for him to go out and about now, with the war so close to coming to a head. I allow my anxiety to pour over me, through my fingers. I do as Ral has always instructed me to do: to feel, rather than think, and the music becomes something melancholy and beautiful as a result.

Draco comes into the room and sits at my side. He is silent for a bit, watching my hands glide across the keys.

"I could never do this," he admits, clearly unhappy by the revelation. "I don't have the patience. Or the right kind of... soul. Not like Lestrange. Ral. Whatever you call him."

I stop playing and turn to look at him with what, I'm sure, is incredulity. In my heart, though, it feels more like anger set on a low, simmering boil. He says this to me  _now_ , after chasing Ral off not two months ago and demanding that I never again consider Rabastan in such a manner? What is this, a game of hot and cold for him?

His lashes flutter with embarrassment as he looks back down at the ivories, and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. "He's bloody built for this kind of pretty shit, Granger. I'm—" He looks over his shoulder at the abandoned chess board in the corner of the room. "I'm not like that. I was raised to like barbaric games, remember? The kind the twist you up. The kind that hurt when it's all said and done. I'm fucked up like that."

He looks hard at me, willing me to understand what he's saying.

Oh, I understand, alright. He's Castling to protect himself, attempting to take back an earlier move and now swap Rabastan into the King's position, while he takes up one off to the side to avoid being in the way. No way am I letting him get away with that.

I cup his cheeks in both hands, and through the gloves I wear, I can feel his heat. It calls to me.

"Do you like me, Draco?"

His eyes go wide and round. "What?"

"For goodness sake, you heard me. Do you like me?"

His gaze narrows and he stares at me, wary. "I'll hurt you."

It's hard for me not to growl at him in frustration. He's so difficult sometimes! "Quit your Slytherin dodging and answer the question, please." It's a miracle I'm calm and haven't strangled him yet, honestly—a testament to my mother's 'infinite patience gene', I'm sure, as Granger males are equally as stubborn as Malfoy men, it seems. "This is your third and last chance: do you like me?"

Draco sighs in surrender. "Alright, yes, I like you. A lot. Maybe even more than." He pushes a strand of my hair back behind my ear and where our skin brushes, there is a light tingle of a power exchange. "Merlin knows why. You're so demanding. And swotty. And a know-it-all. And you can't cook worth shite. And your hair is fucking  _everywhere_." He boyish smirk teases to life upon his lips, transforming him from pointy and ferret-y quite suddenly into wickedly sexy. "And you scream like a dying cat when I'm shagging you. I'm going permanently deaf in my left ear, you know. All your fault."

I raise an eyebrow at that, but press onward, the goal of Checkmating him firmly in mind. There will be no more of his pussyfooting around when it comes to us, I've decided. I'm taking this game.

Boldly, I allow my hands to slide down his chest, over his abdomen, which tightens and jerks at my touch, and further downward to rest over the prominent bulge at his crotch. "Would you like to continue exploring that last bit? The... fucking... part?" Intentionally, I elongate the word, 'fuck', and note how his gaze drops to my mouth as I say it. I rub him very firmly over his trousers once before pulling away. "Or, shall we just leave it at holding hands from now on?" I turn back to the piano, feigning indifference. "Because I assure you, Malfoy, that I am at a sufficient level of control now in our monthly meetings that I would be fine returning to the platonic."

In chess terms, this is called 'The Great Bluff'.

Draco's spine straightens. "You wouldn't dare."

I casually shrug. "You're the one who thinks I should go looking elsewhere for satisfaction, so if you think Ral's the man for the job, then who am I to argue? I mean, he is rather handsome—"

He's on me before I can finish the sentence, as I'd planned. His mouth is hot and possessive, and I'm lifted easily from the bench onto his lap. Now this is more like it! His excess energy is flowing into me, and its warming me from head to toe, making something soft and tender curl through my chest, then float into my belly... and finally pulse within my womb.

Quite suddenly, he pulls away again. His face is flushed, his lips red and wet from my kiss, his eyes wide, almost afraid. "Granger, I..." He stalls, stares at me as if he wants me more than he should. As if he doesn't dare to hope. "I shouldn't do this. I should let you go. You deserve more than someone broken like me. I'm cursed forever, don't you see?"

"Draco, do shut up," I softly insist, lightly running my fingers through his hair. I want him, and I'll have him. Astoria-Bellatrix, whoever that hapless creature becomes as the two mad personalities within the one body meld, can go fuck herself. Draco is mine. "Your White Queen wants  _you_. Submit to me this time."

I wrap my arms around his neck as he wraps his around my waist, and its clear that now that I've affirmed my desire for him alone, he has no intention of letting me go. The doubt leaves his face, replaced with tenderness. I kiss him, putting everything I have into it. The magic that I've stolen from him returns to him, passing between our lips, and something suddenly shifts and splits open within him. Like a light turning on, he finally gets it: our love is like our curses, a game of give and take. He surrenders to it with an aroused groan.

Somehow, we end up on the floor, and I'm naked again. He's atop me and in me, thrusting and kissing me like he can't get enough. His fingers entwine with mine, and I wrap my legs around him, holding him tight as he tells me he loves me without words. When I come, he follows.

Checkmate.

We both win.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new chapter not included in the original fest entry.

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 2000 (1)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

He twines his fingers with mine and holds them up towards the light, looking at them. In comparison, my hand is naturally smaller than Draco's, honey gold in contrast to pale ivory, but I note how well we fit together, nonetheless.

I also note the indentation in his skin where his old wedding ring had once sat. The space has been bare since we discovered Astoria's duplicity, but the mark of her remains.

"What do you want for your birthday?" I ask him.

He tucks his chin and looks down at me in silence. His eyes take in the measure of me–sex rumpled with wild hair–and I blush under his scrutiny, knowing I look a fright, smell of sex, and probably need a long, hot shower.

I'm surprised by his sudden move, as he rolls me onto my back and comes over me again, cradling his sticky, hard arousal between my thighs. It's habitual by now to part my legs and let him come into me again as he wishes; a practised motion, but also comforting and familiar, too.

His mouth captures mine as he slides into me and begins to move, and there is heat in his passion that is magic all unto itself.

"You," he whispers, thrusting deep and making me moan. "Forever."

"I can give you that," I tell him, and come apart for him once more.

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – December, 1999**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

_"You're getting better at it," he says to me later, when we're alone in the living room._

_I inwardly sigh, knowing where this is headed. Malfoy can be cryptic at the best of times, but he's clearly angling to trade insults again. Well, I won't be baited to lose my good mood. Not today._ _"Hand me the white crocheted star next, please," I instruct him, as I hang another paper snowflake from one pine bough._

_The Christmas tree I'm decorating was brought in by Tonks and Remus yesterday, and in a fit of excitement, I sat up all night to hand-make decorations for it, using bits and bobbles from around the house. Members of the Order who can be spared are coming to Grimmauld Place this weekend to share some much-needed cheer and bolster their flagging spirits, and I want everything to be perfect for them._

_I hold my hand out for the requested ornament, and Malfoy slaps into it instead a pine cone I've painted white and hung from a string._ _I roll my eyes, bite my tongue, and hang the pine cone artfully from a different branch._

_"The crocheted star next, please."_

_"The sex, I mean," Malfoy qualifies his initial statement, ignoring me. "But then, I shouldn't expect anything less from you, should I, Granger? You make it a habit to be perfect at everything you do. I must say, though, I especially like the little roll you add with your hips and the tiny arching of your next just before you come. Makes me hard just thinking about it now."_

_I hold out my palm again, ignoring his attempts to be inflammatory, and twitch my fingers impatiently at him when he doesn't immediately put an ornament in my hand. This time, it's the miniature reindeer I'd made of some wine corks, bent wire, and using ink and a quill I found in the upstairs library to fill in the eyes and nose. I hang it without comment, refusing to give him what he wants from me: a reaction._

_Malfoy's hands gripping my hips shocks me and threatens to imbalance me from the chair I'm standing on. I quickly grab the chair backing to steady myself._

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

_Now he's got my whole attention, just as he'd planned._

_"Admiring your backside. I'm just noticing how nice an arse you have, Granger."_

_His touch makes me shaky, and not because of any funky magic zipping between us. I'm in love with him; it happened when I wasn't looking. Yet, to him, I'm only a new toy to be played with until broken and then discarded without thought. I'm something to desire in the now, but not to hold in the future._ _That's how it is when you're a mistress._

_"Please remove your hands from my person," I primly request._

_"What are you so afraid of?" he challenges me. "Is it that you'll fall, or that I won't catch you if you do so?"_

_I huff, frustrated with him, with myself, and with our preposterous situation. "I don't need you to catch me, Malfoy. I'm perfectly capable of saving myself."_

_"Spoken like a true Slytherin," he retorts with a chuckle. "Seems I'm rubbing off on you."_

_I growl in mounting irritation. His game has set me behind schedule. Molly will be here at any time with the ingredients to start baking and I need to have the tree finished before then. "Quit your fake teasing and kindly hand me the crocheted star so we can finish this."_

_He doesn't move away, doesn't give me any space. He invades me instead, seeking to conquer._ _"What if I don't want to, Granger... finish it, that is?" he asks in a low, enticing tone. "What if I'm exactly where I want to be right this second?"_

_He can't possibly mean what my heart is so desperate to hear._

_I swallow my pride and throw caution to the wind, feeling a little daring right then. "And where is that?"_

_He hops up onto the chair behind me, his feet braced to either side of mine, his arousal pressed into my backside. His mouth tips towards my ear and I hold my breath._

_"Here," he says._

_The blood pounding in my ears is so loud and so hard I have to close my eyes against it._ _"There's still another week left until the curse needs to be satisfied_ —"

_He lets his nose run softly along the column of my throat and shushes me. "This isn't about that."_

_I don't understand. What is he doing and why? Is this just some chess-like positioning in the on-going game between us? If so, I'm too much a novice to comprehend the reason for this particular move. "Then what is it about?" I ask, slipping my gloved fingers over his._

_He kisses over my pulse and sighs. "You._ _This," he continues, pressing small nips to my throat, entwining his fingers with mine as they rest at my hips. "Us."_

_A shaky gasp escapes my lips as he bites down a little harder._

_"Draco," I whisper, closing my eyes and arching into him._

_"I say, Hermione, I found this_ —"  _Rabastan pronounces as he rounds the corner at top speed and enters the living room. He stops short in the doorway the moment he see me and Malfoy caught in an intimate moment. His eyes bounce back and forth between us. "Sorry. I only wanted to show you this box of antique ornaments I found in the attic. Didn't mean to intrude."_

_"Didn't you?" Malfoy growls at him, and quickly lets me go, hopping off the chair._

_Legs shaking, I get down from my mock-stool and return onto floor level as well. "Let's see it," I bid, still quivering inside and out, but determined not to allow my lover to see just how deeply he affects me. With raised chin and arms out, I usher Rabastan over with his interesting find. We take a seat next to each other on the couch to go through the wooden box together._

_Inside are expensive treasures: jewel-encrusted stars and silk-covered glass balls, pearl strings and finely carved nutcrackers, magically enchanted figurines dancing and skating and prancing about in small winter dioramas. Best of all, there is a tree topper - an angel in white wearing a heavenly crown._ _I hold her up to the light filtering in through the living room window behind me and she seems to glow with an inner radiance. Her brown, curly hair is a halo around her, and her eyes are twinkling, dark brown gems._

_I wonder how something like could be an heirloom to such notorious purebloods as those who once owned this house, but then I remember that unlike the Malfoy and Nott families, the Blacks favour brunettes and dark eyes._

_"Hey, it's you," Rabastan notes, tweaking the angel's nose. "Strikingly similar, anyway."_

_I shake my head and chuckle. "I'm hardly angelic," I joke._

_Before I can set her back into the box, Malfoy swipes the doll-like figure from my hands. He looks intently at her for a moment, and then back at me. "You're definitely no angel, Granger." His gaze is flat, narrowed, jerking between me and Rabastan Lestrange with_ _...is that jealousy? No, surely I'm just imagining things!_ _H_ _e hands the elaborate ornament back to me and heads for the door._ _"You're a Queen. The White Queen," he calls back at me and with a smirk over his shoulder, he rounds the corner and is gone._

_Hanging from the angel's arm is the white crocheted star._

_I stare after him, unsure if his words are meant to be a compliment or an insult._

* * *

 

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

**Grimmauld Place – June, 2000 (2)**

**.~.~.~.~.~.**

"They're sending you out  _without_  backup?" I ask, incredulous.

Ral nods his head as if to say, "yes, and?" just before heading down the stairs towards the front Sitting Room, where the rest of the team are waiting for him.

"And who's oh-so-brilliant idea was that?" I let the sarcasm roll of my tongue, angry that my friend's been placed in this position by someone high-up within the Order.

He laughs, and it is a rich, masculine sound that echoes up the empty staircase behind me as we turn to go down the remaining flight. "Mine, actually," he admits, and reaches out for the handrail to guide him down those last steps. "I thought it was a rather clever and sound plan, seeing as how I'm the only one the wards around the Lestrange ancestral home won't kill for crossing without permission."

"But—"

At the bottom, Ral whirls to face me, and I stop short upon the final step. We're eye-to-eye now thanks to the height advantage I've gained.

He holds a hand up in front of him, indicating I need to be silent and let him speak. With a small, sulky huff, I comply. "Hermione, I know what you're going to say, but please hear me out. We need to discover the location where Bellatrix is holding her stash of pregnant witches. Finding those women and removing them from the equation—hiding them in a place my mad sister-in-law and her ghoulish master will never think to look—will collapse all of their nefarious plans. It just may ruin the morale of the bulk of their soldiers, too, knowing we have their pregnant wives, sister, and daughters as a bargaining chip. They might be convinced to turn on Bella and the Dark Lord, if they thought we'd be willing to give them back their families unharmed in exchange. It would put the Order in a powerful position to win this war."

He's right. I know he is. Tactically speaking, stealing those women away from the enemy would be one hell of a Mating Attack, forcing the Black Queen and her equally depraved King into either surrendering or facing the ultimate checkmate. Still, I feel uneasy. I have what Professor Trelawney might begrudgingly consider "a bad feeling" about this mission. I don't want my friend going out, for a reason that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with feminine intuition.

"Moody says they're hiding those women someplace referred to as 'House  _Insolitus_ '," Ral continues.

"Which is Latin for 'strange'," I say, knowing where he's taking the argument and not liking it one bit.

He gives me a respectful nod. "It must refer to my ancestral home in Corsham. Nothing else makes sense."

I heave a heavy sigh. "But why does it have to be you who goes? Why not someone else?"

His steady, warm hands reach out and lightly grip my shoulders, careful that our skin doesn't touch where the sleeve of my tee ends. "As I said, the familial wards won't harm me or alarm anyone inside that I've crossed them, as they would for a stranger. Also, I grew up in that infernal place and have the advantage of knowing the terrain like the back of my hand. That house has so many twisting passages, it would be confusing to anyone else, but I can navigate through it easily and safely."

I fold my arms over my chest, unconvinced. "And you're just going to waltz in, I suppose, and pretend you never left their side? Convince the Dark Lord and Bellatrix to take you back into their trust? Then what? They blurt out the location of their super-secret hiding place in your presence, you bugger off back here with that information, and we all charge to the rescue of the damsels in distress?"

His roguish smile reappears. "Not very original, I know, but I'm sure Bella can be convinced my tale is legitimate. She's always had a bit of a blind spot for family—especially family she's allowed into her bed before."

I gape at him in surprise at that revelation, but before I can think to question him about it, he leans forward and gives me a quick kiss on the lips.

"Did I mention that I'm not only an extraordinary sneak, but I'm also quite a charming and capable liar?" he asks to distract me. When I don't immediately reply, his smile widens into two rows of perfectly white teeth. He knows he's got me too flustered to argue. "Now, instead of ringing my ears with your worries, love, why not just wish me luck? I'd rather not go with you angry at me. Besides, we both know that little shit boy-toy of yours would happily  _Avada_  me for making you even the slightest bit dispirited. I'd rather not risk his explosive wrath."

His joking doesn't put me at ease. "Promise me you'll come back."

He stares long and hard at me, and we both know that's a vow he can't make. Not in this war. "Hermione, don't ever stop being you," he whispers instead, and hugs me tightly to him, still very careful not to activate my curse with an inadvertent brush of skin.

I know he's not mine, and that my heart belongs to another, but in that moment, I let myself consider what might have been and hug him back for all I'm worth.

"We'll laugh about this someday over tea, you'll see," he tells me as he lets me go and heads off down the narrow hallway. As he gets to the Sitting Room door, he turns and points at me. "Your treat."

I nod in agreement and give him my most encouraging smile, and I let him walk away.

That dark feeling bottoms out and sits heavily in my belly as he steps into the Sitting Room to join the others for an eleventh hour mission debrief. The final glimpse I have of him is the corner of his black, woollen robe fluttering behind him. I fear this will be the last time I ever see Rabastan Alastair Lestrange alive again.

 


End file.
